Lost Voice
by Pascal in Quebec
Summary: Things on Tracy Island are not the tropical paradise the public was made to believe, and Jeff was never much of a father to begin with, dominating and exploiting his sons like a guru in a sect. Anti-IR; plentiful bashings of Jefferson, Grant, Ruth, Penelope, adult Bellegants. !survivor Hiram and !damaged !abused Tracy brothers.
1. Chapter 1

The author wishes to express thanks to anyone who may read his story and encourages them to leave reviews, comments or even flame it hard. As with any who try their hand at publicly expressing an idea or story concept, all feedback is important and welcome.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Thunderbirds, nor any other sci-fi or fantasy series, movies, comics, cartoons or news items used in this fiction as they belong to the creators or broadcasters or publishers who put them out for consumption by the public.

 **Thunderbirds**

 **ABSTRACT**

Things on Tracy Island are not the tropical paradise the public was made to believe, and Jeff was never much of a father to begin with, dominating and exploiting his sons like a guru in a sect. Now, at the end of the school year 14 year old Alan is coming back to reunite with his family. But what about the events from January? What about the fire at McVeigh Academy in the chemistry lab that he was accused of starting? Jefferson's reaction at the time was not anywhere near nice and understanding, Tracy's not being known for their patience. What about the injuries Alan suffered? Will it be the same son that comes or will something harder, less tolerant, less amicable come to the shores of Jefferson's sectarian utopia?

 **Anti-IR;** plentiful bashings of Jefferson, Grant, Ruth, Penelope, adult Bellegants. !survivor Hiram and !damaged !abused Tracy brothers.

This story takes place in a world that combines the elements of Thunderbirds 1964, Thunderbirds are go 2015 and Thunderbirds 2004 live movie. I know there is a long series of comics written but I never saw one and have no idea what canon they contain so I won't be taking those into account.

 **IMPORTANT:** for the purpose of keeping this story logical and relevant, I will use the original names of the Bellegant family meaning Onaha (mother), Kyrano (father) Tanusha / Tin-Tin / Kayo (daughter) and Trangh (Uncle / The Hood). Brains is married but his wife disappeared  & presumed murdered while his son Fermat is 2 years younger than Alan.

This story is Alternate Universe, most characters are OOC. Grandma Ruth Hardale Tracy is less active than in TAG 2015 but more than the movie or original series ( _that's easy to do!_ ). The Hood is even more ambiguous and clouded in ethereous mists of chaos. Alan and Tanusha are solidifying their burgeoning relationship against all odds, especially Alan's age and objections of his family.

Grant Hugh Tracy, age 82 (deceased at 73)

Ruth Hardale Tracy, age78

Jefferson Tracy, age 63

Lucille Evans Tracy, age 53 (deceased at 42)

Scott Carpenter Tracy, age 25

John Glenn Tracy, age 23

Virgil Grissom Tracy, age 21

Gordon Cooper Tracy, age 19

Alan Sheppard Tracy, age 14

Hiram Jebediah Hackenbacker, age 36

Audrey Evelyne Hackenbacker, age 39 (presumed murdered at 28)

Fermat Peter Hackenbacker, age 12

Trangh (The Hood) Bellegant, age 52

Kyrano Bellegant, age 55

Onaha Bellegant, age 48

Tanusha (Kayo / Tin-Tin) Bellegant, age 19

The Honorable Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, age 29 (British MI6 spy)

Aloysius Parker, age 57

PS; I like flames, they're fun to read so don't hesitate to write them.

 **WARNING** ; the language level of this one is not too particularly trashy when we consider a story based on ex-cons, ex-military men, high risk situations and rescue specialists dealing with everybody's crap and messes on top of their own. Also, it was series canon that the entire Tracy household swore like drunken sailors on an hourly basis. They cleaned up the language a whole lot more than spic-&-span in the 2004 movie and 2015 series. Remember the internal joke that the " **all clear** " call phrase " **FAB** " actually spells out " **Fuck It All, Boys!** " because of how often Jefferson was absolutely livid with rage at all five sons at the same time. It was transformed as a familial joke to tell each other that if Dad was able to get angry to scold or punish, then they were all healthy and doing fine at whatever was happening as Jeff had always told them " _Rescue first, heal second then order the House after everything else is done and packed away._ "

 **However** , as I always warn people who read my work: this language was pretty much normal in the school yard 30 years ago when I was a teenager. So, how can you have such a thin skin and be part of the same culture on the same continent if this is really that offensive to you? Where did you spend the last few decades, if you can't take a few hard words from the mouths of kids when these words have been around since before World War I?

 **LOST VOICE chapter 1**

 **Prayers of Contrition**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – opening theme)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 16:37pm**

 **Tracy Island, office of Jefferson Tracy**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

Jefferson Tracy sat in his office, half sunk into the sinfully plush cushions of the massive executive chair that his sons had playfully dubbed the ' _Throne of International Rescue's Tyrant_ ' in one of the earlier days of the operation's first year online. How he missed those days and the carefree attitude, the positive energy and drive to excel just to help save and heal others without thinking about rewards, publicity or security.

"How times have changed, my poor Lucille. How I have botched and destroyed all that we built in our married life and afterwards." he thought in melancholy as he gazed longingly at his dead wife's solo portrait. It was taken when Alan had been only a year old. Even after giving birth to five boys she had always slimmed back to her original figure, just as he had met her when she had just left University for her first full-time job.

How she managed to lose weight after Virgil came out had always been a mystery. Hiram had once joked with him in secret that this incredible feat of _human self-expansion and industry_ was his inspiration for the POD auto-assembly gantry in the drop-module of Thunderbird 2 and the factory-hangars beneath the house. Them having the first four boys in close succession might have inspired Jeff with designs for the rails and dock-mules that moved the chain of Modules during Two's equipment phase pre-mission. Needless to say Hiram and him would NEVER have told Lucille that tidbit when she was alive; both men remembered her temper and valued their lives quite a lot. She would have FAB'ed them both in a wild way if she had known!

How his Beloved had survived carrying Alan well passed the safe period for birthing without the caesarian section that had been recommended was an even greater mystery. That she actually recovered from the health troubles of the difficult gestation and eventful birth was a miracle in all their minds. They weren't even sure Alan would make it out alive until he screamed in the nurse's hands while she was cleaning him from all the fluids.

Following a suspicious avalanche three years after the boy's birth Lucille died and Alan was hospitalized, grievously injured and deeply comatose for three months. **All the family changed**. They had needed months of patience after his return as doing physiotherapy on a damaged three years old isn't mechanically easy in any form. That he was mute for almost a full year after he awoke in the pediatric ICU made them all wonder if the coma had made him _less_ , had rendered him _defective_ in some way. The infant had been suffering emotional trauma of a deep, abiding kind that only Jeff could have really related with, but that realization came far too late to be of any help. Especially to Alan, poor innocent child.

It hadn't been a good change at all.

After eleven years passed crawling blindly in the dark underbelly of his own rage like a rabid maggot chewing through a gangrenous carcass, despondent and, yes he could now admit it, depressive on a clinical scale, he finally saw the light at the end of the long tunnel of pain for himself and his sons. For four of them at least. Again, little Alan wouldn't been so fortunate.

Jefferson let the tears of shame and misery flow down his face unhindered.

It was too late for them now.

His Household lay broken in shameful pieces, each one warped by his deeds and uncontrolled emotions that as father and adult he should have reigned in well over a decade ago. Now it was time to pay the _Butcher_ his due; he came bearing the **Bleeding Meats** he cut in a satchel at his shoulder, his _Unmerciful Bill_ in one hand, his _Baneful_ _Cleaver_ in the other. Jefferson feared he could not afford what he owed and his sons would end up paying his **Debt of Bloodied Shame** for him, again worsening his unworthiness and justifying the decisions he knew were going to tear the Tracy Name and International Rescue apart at the seams like old sailcloth worn out by the elements at sea.

Jeff leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk so he could join his hands in desperate prayer, giving in to the yawning pit of hopelessness that opened inside of him three days ago when the letters came in by their private courier service: namely Gordon having done a flight to New York and back.

"Forgive me, Holy Father, for I have sinned against the **Flesh** born of my flesh and sullied a **Pure Soul** repeatedly against all **Justice** and **Law**. Betrayed mine own **Blood** and **Creed,** I have. Sundered my **Bounded Oaths** , I have time and again. On me this shame goeth. On me, the burden to bear, it is. Please, if they have earned any mercy from Thee, spare my children further sorrow from my hands and mouth. Thank you, Jesus our God, our Savior and Guide. Amen."

There was no answer to his prayer, however faithfully delivered it was. No amount of faith, belief or repentance would change the course of History any longer.

The evening would bring news towards the island home of the Tracy clan, and none of it would be good. Even with the homecoming of all their kin and extended members, the storm clouds were already gathered and he could hear the thunder in the far, out at sea.

 **A maelstrom was coming.**

Not physically or elementally, no. It was not Nature throwing her vengeful clouds, rains and winds at them this time. It wasn't a mere tropical depression they could ignore by battening the hatches and retreating to the underground hangars to work or play until the sun was back out tomorrow afternoon. If only it were such a simple precipitation that came on the horizon, he could smile at it and endure until the next dawn as he always had, even through the deaths of his three older brothers, his father and his beloved wife Lucille.

 **Not anymore.**

Through the opening of the wide panoramic sliding doors that lead from the office unto the massive terrace, this sector closed in by a hedge to have some privacy from the kids when he had a migraine or extra hard hit of depression, he could hear a welcome noise. The very particular and distinctive sounds of FAB-1, his friend and ally's pink monster on wheels. It had finished its approach run and was now coming down from flight mode, the whine of the OmniVek thrusters dimming and wings retracting back inside as the car returned to its more ordinary roadway configuration.

Thankfully he still had about thirty minutes to pull himself together before they walked up to the house from the publicly visible lower landing strip and hangars where he had asked Parker to place the car whenever they came for a visit.

Flying cars were still not a banal occasion, even in the lives of the Tracy's and her Ladyship's arrival was sure to draw a crowd. Especially since she was carrying precious cargo on this run; Alan and Fermat were coming home from boarding school at Wharton's Academy in Massachusetts on the American eastern seaboard. Penny had quite kindly accepted to pick them up for transport to the island since she had a mandated (MI-6) flight to Washington DC anyways before coming for a week in the sun for her own vacations.

 **Alan, his poor beleaguered, mistreated son who suffered so at his hands.**

He had already received the school's report on Alan by email and a much more voluminous paper version in the batch Gordon brought back with him. None of the others knew yet as he had opted to give the young teenager some well deserved time to arrive home and settle into his seldom used accommodation. God knew the boy was always given poor welcome when he came; the least that could be done today was let him arrive in peace before the circus macabre began.

Jefferson wept more, head bowing in silent shame as he thought of the difference in the bedrooms of his four older sons and the one he attributed to Alan. A room he _loaned_ to the child, not _formally gave_ as he had done with each of the others as they had been presented with the key to the knob on the door of their personal abode on the island. Alan's was the only room that could not be unlocked from inside if it were locked from out using the master key that Jefferson had made. It was the only door in the entire compound built like this. To better punish the boy when grounding him, to be certain nobody let him out if Jeff left the island on a rescue or business.

An armored, one way door to a small dark room with a single small window above the simplistic single bunk bed. No large bay window or wide patio doors leading to the expansive common terrace shared by all the brothers' rooms. No full bathroom with a soaker tub, shower stall, vanity and toilet. No, Alan only had a stainless steel closet set up as a wet bath, equipped with all-in-one fixtures like a prison cell. The toilet bowl and sink were extruded and molded out of the back wall; the shower was a set of holes in the ceiling plate. No bathtub or vanity, not even a medicine cabinet covered by a mirror as he had a flat mirror mounted above his small utilitarian desk. Everything in his bathroom was built as inseparable, almost indestructible penitentiary-grade elements that were cold, unfeeling and offered no comfort whatsoever.

You could see in the small room, barely less devoid than a monk's cell, or that of a prisoner doing hard time for high crimes, the harsh difference of social and emotional status between his sons in his heart and eyes. His other sons each had a livable space at least five times the size, with their bathrooms being about the size of Alan's entire rooming area, wet bath included. To better remind the boy that he was only tolerated on the island and in their lives, never actually welcome as a peer or son of the family.

And yet, after all these years, Alan always simply looked at the bedroom with melancholy, tiredness and resignation that he could never climb high enough in the consideration and love of his parent to earn anything close to resembling the material wealth and luxury the others were given without ever asking. It was unspoken but well known around the island that Alan had to beg his father for basic necessities when his siblings could get junk items and luxuries just by a passing mention or looking at an ad on TV too long, if Jeff was in the room at the time.

 **Sick, twisted bastard that Jefferson really was.**

 _Little gifts_ from a _doting parent_ who was privately exceptionally strict, unyielding and prone to harsh fits of distemper. A classic angry bipolar predator, an unrepentant physical abuser and emotional blackmailer, who beat his children in the name of _christian corporeal disciplines_ even passed the age of 19, then gave them lavish toys like their own customized Thunderbirds, cars, boats, motorcycles, jet skis and many old planes he had designed and kept. All as a _transparent way to buy out their tolerance_ and endurance towards his vicious cycle of senseless blames, assault  & battery then empty platitudes of meaningless regrets.

And Alan always suffered the worse physically and emotionally as Jeff had unconsciously, or maybe not so accidentally, allowed the older sons to pick on, mercilessly haze and even ' _punish_ ' physically the youngest child under guise of keeping _discipline_ in force when he was not present. He had instinctively done this as a way to let them blow out steam in a ' _safe_ ' direction rather than explode violently against him, his haphazard rules of personal deportment and ham-fisted enforcement of such. He had even fallen so low as to physically punish his sons, all of them regardless of age or health, for their failings or mistakes during IR training and rescues while saying it was to keep them attentive in high risk situations and thus alive to return home.

 **Home to more pains and humiliations** **.**

He had been a colonel in the US Air Force, an astronaut with NASA who helped build the first permanent moon base and been the first US explorer of Mars. Somehow, he didn't think that his patented ' _best method to spank your 21 year old astronaut son's rump with a wooden paddle without causing tears through his space suit_ ' was ever going to be put in the NASA manuals just because he had formed and trained his sons to follow in his footsteps in the same agency. They would be more likely to expel him in shame after having recalled him to active duty just to court martial him for conduct unbecoming an officer, armed assault, intimidation, breach of private life and hundreds more he had done in the last ten years.

 **Escapism**

He had moved his family into **international waters** to escape government inspections of their home and lifestyles, not to avoid the medias and gold-diggers after an easy marriage with his boys. Those had been quick lies he told the kids a decade ago when the project began. He wanted a Utopia where HE would be the ultimate judge, jury and executioner of his own values and morality. It had worked far better and also far worse than he ever anticipated. Without any external retroactions he had degenerated into a brutal guru that tyrannized his small sect of about a dozen souls without rest. Even in their sleep, the children ( _and other adults_ ) did not escape his reach as he had close to five thousand cameras and nine thousand microphones hidden all around the island in the name of security against home invaders.

In reality he was so fearful of his co-islanders mounting a violent revolt he had spied on them without pause, using military software employed in GDF spy satellites to data-mine the massive footage archive to alert him to potential problems before they exploded. How had he fallen so low in this life without ever noticing he was destroying his children and their futures? How could he have mortgaged their capacity to become decent husbands and fathers to their future families like this? How come no one ever stopped him before now, when it was far too late to repair and heal anything anymore?

 **First-Born is tarnished gold**

Scott could never look him straight in the eyes anymore. He had been backhanded across the face too many times for that seemingly egregious offense of looking his superior officer / parent in the face with naked defiance on his visage. Such mutinous attitude obliged the harshest corrections his now 25 year old first son had ever endured from him. On top of punishing him in many demeaning ways for his own behavior, he had also dished out extra ' _leadership sanctions_ ' for whatever the younger ones did in his presence if he didn't stop them and beat them himself before bringing them to Jeff for the actual ' _official_ ' punishment to be dispensed.

As a result, Scott had been broken and remolded into having a copy of his father's nasty disposition when angered and was now almost as feared and resented as Jeff by his younger siblings, even those over age 20 who did not escape the system. Scott had become the feared marine's drill instructor for his siblings, but with the authority to slap, spank or whip as needed to silence dissension and erase doubts about the penultimate supremacy of Jeff and his rules over them all. He was no longer the caring, warm and loving older brother he had been as a teenager anymore. Now he was reduced to being the heartless enforcer of the cult guru's dictatorial whims. Well, that's when he wasn't secretly having an emotional breakdown so bad that it was hidden and kept under wraps by Jeff under the guise of sending the boy on a lone cargo mission or business meeting until he calmed down enough to function again.

 **Second place is first loser**

John now avoided coming back to earth unless it was to sit a meeting at Tracy Tower in New York in the stead of Jeff or Scott who had rescues and other business to tend. He hated the island home because it meant that despite being easily more intelligent and better educated than Jeff was at that age, he was constricted to the same silly infantile rules and punishments from dad and grandma as suffered by Virgil, Gordon and Alan. The worst for him was this happened willy-nilly, at the drop of a pin, as both elders were nasty, belligerent and unforgiving. Then he had to add Scott on top of all that shit.

Even now at 23, a published scientific author acclaimed around the world, one of the youngest professional astronauts ever licensed to date and full time space monitor for IR, John feared being in the same room as his father. It was even worse if grandma was there to push Jeff in his violence. This brilliant, gentle and caring young man had developed multiple nervous tics from the repeated belt buckle strikes to his hands by his father who trained him ruthlessly to never touch something unless he knew absolutely what it did and never let anything float around the T5 habitat to avoid damages from bouncing objects that may accidentally hit a button or person. These tics of course brought up questions at NASA during John's short internship period on the ISS that Jeff obliged him to do. That useless month-long job had been far more to boost Jeff's ego about having managed to train one of his sons as an astronaut than for any use the boy would get out of it. The entire family knew John was **reserved** for Thunderbird 5 ASAP after university anyways; it wasn't as if he could get a good career at NASA, even if the agency's director had made him an offer in person.

Nobody was stupid enough to say ' **NO** ' to Jefferson Tracy's face, especially not his sons, after all.

Except for one case; John had always refused to participate in humiliating and beating his youngest brothers, finding the courage to stand up to Jefferson in a way that Scott who had military training and hand-to-hand combat experience could never find in himself. The tall, lanky blond spacer had even managed to scare the bejeezus out of his father by threatening to use T5's superior sensors and comms to broadcast the entirety of Tracy Island's security camera footage across the world if he ever tried to strong-arm John into being his enforcer and accomplice again. The young adult had reeled physically and mentally from the consequences of that particular punishment for close to two months in solitude up at the satellite. BUT he had never struck his little siblings nor allowed Scott or Virgil to do it in his presence.

Jeff had lost this one good son already due to his own savage cruelty. The events coming around would simply formalize the break by forcing John to publicly choose a side and then move all the ways to consolidate his chosen alliance. With that move done, the others would all follow him out the door.

 **Third place means you're a worse loser than the guy before you**

Virgil was a gentle giant with a golden heart that used to spend his time in the light on the terrace or the beach, painting or drawing the bountiful fruits of nature around his home. Nowadays, he spent most of his time deep inside T2's bowels. He stayed far enough inside the machinery that he was invisible and unreachable for most of the time he was present at home, knowing his father would never interrupt maintenance unless he had really done something provenly stupid. Otherwise, he isolated himself high in the library, away from the main house and its depravities to keep on painting or playing the old grand concert piano Lucille had loved so much.

Jeff would rarely expend the energy needed to climb up all those staircases from the main house for almost twenty minutes just to smack around Virgil. If he absolutely needed to let out stress, he could much more simply reach Gordon in the nearest pool or Alan as he was usually grounded in his room and unable to leave if the door wasn't opened by dad's key.

Poor Alan had few choices on the island; if not consigned to quarters, the youngest was normally with Fermat in Hiram's laboratory or villa. These places were **sanctuary territory** and Jeff would be forced to wait until the boy came out on his own lest he make Hiram even angrier than he had become. The last time he did, the result had not been pretty as it was proven to him he had never controlled the super-genius engineer at all; he still carried the scars to show for it.

Hiram had been raised in an orphanage since he was born and had learn to use his fists and small knives or other crude, improvised weapons of fortune as soon as he learned to crawl. Jefferson had never realized just how harsh and unfriendly the environment had been for the poor child at the time. Now he did know and carried visible reminders of it.

On the few times that Jefferson had decided to make the climb up to the library though, Virgil had been left an emotional wreck far worse than the mis-colored ecchymosis all over his body would ever indicate. How the physically massive young man with the altruistic, cooperative temperament ever managed to look himself in the mirror after getting beaten like a wild animal by his enraged father would probably never be known. The poor boy wasn't telling. He wasn't talking much anymore in fact.

As time went, Virgil's self-respect and integrity eroded so badly that he spoke out less, withdrew more, farther away inside himself, away from Jeff, Ruth and Scott who all disrespected him so and inflicted pain and shame all the time. Jeff had actually become worried that Virgil had been punished ( _beaten_ ) too often and too strongly to recover fully anymore as his performances on rescues had slipped dangerously. His leg mobility showed signs of lasting troubles and no manner of returning to healthy standards. Add to this that his son was morally wrecked and no longer interested in trying to heal himself, let alone help others despite being the medic of the family. It was a job he never wanted but was obliged to do as T2 was the group's mobile infirmary so being a field medic was required by Jeff from anyone who wanted to be her main pilot.

 **Fourth place is not on the podium so nobody cares**

Gordon now spent so much time in the water less for his back aches than as a way to stay out of his father's reach to avoid slaps in the face as Jeff was wont to do when the boy spoke nonsense in a futile attempt to lighten up the somber, depressive mood that always followed his father around. The many spankings by belt or paddle depended on Jeff's humor far more than the teenager's offenses and actual guilt. The beatings became so common and aggressive that it had made Gordon lose some reflexes and agility in his legs worse than Virgil suffered. The team's aquanaut had to stay home and miss seven different rescues and four social events in the last year since he turned 18.

When he reached the age of majority, Gordon had tried to ask his father, meekly to the point of begging, to please treat him like an adult and stop spanking him. He was old enough and educated enough to understand with words, no longer needing pain and humiliation to train him further. Jeff did as pleaded; he stopped using his **hands** to **spank** and now always employed an item to show the brat he wasn't ready for adult treatment, no matter what he thought. So now Gordon got paddlings, beltings, whippings, brushings, spoonings, switchings, and any other type of physically derived punishment to his bare ass along with punches to the face or shoulders without ever feeling his dad's open hand again because he was too old for it.

 _Never ask a domestic tyrant or sectarian guru for something: he'll screw you and say it's your fault for being a sinner until you believe him._

As a result, Gordon quickly became depressive, aggressive, moody, ill-mannered, flighty and systematically irresponsible back to the same attitude as when he was 13 years old at the worst of puberty. No matter the punishments that he received from his father, grandma, Scott or Virgil, his temper had been irrevocably damaged and set back to an ingrained immaturity that Jeff now despaired would never be healed. The worse of it was he had to ground Gordon from rescues for the last month as he had discovered the boy was cutting his intake of food, slept haphazardly everywhere around but didn't use his bedroom anymore and had become reckless to the point of self-destructive when on a rescue job.

His fourth boy wanted to end it all to escape the pain because he knew if he fled, if he ran away, his billionaire father with his government and GDF contacts would find him fast and then he would experience real suffering, without any respite in view.

Jefferson did not even want to think about how closely this resembled the reactions of Virgil. Having one suicidal son was enough; if he had two then he was forced to admit that he had blundered along the way. Ignoring similar symptoms in Scott and John was just continuing the established policy of wanton ignorance and self delusion in place for a decade. Even though he could see the impending hecatomb, there was no way in Hell that the _reality-denying guru_ would admit being responsible for the boys' weakness and incapacity to man up and cope with his temper.

 **And after all that, Alan; the fifth wheel.**

What he did to the four first boys was atrocious and unforgivable. What he had done to Alan along with Ruth was deserving of its very own special pit in the ninth circle of Hell Everburning.

Alan's early childhood was a messy miasma of pain, suffering, humiliations and forcible submissiveness towards everybody else in the house as he was the youngest and Jefferson had been raised like his parents and grand-parents before; by strength and fear of strength.

 **Historically** a child was deemed inferior and submissive to every person above his own age while at the same time having the right and authority to lord it over those younger than himself. This system was common worldwide but usually better controlled and implemented with an emphasis on mercy and tolerance. It was meant normally to help teach children responsibility and a decent familial attitude in preparation for their own adulthood and managing their household kindly. The now clinically depressed father put in place the same method but without any safeties as he didn't want any safety, care or comfort for the boy.

Jeff had used that **historical system** to turn three of his four first boys into senseless abusers who took turns hating and harming the youngest, most vulnerable child. For over a decade, _Jefferson had fooled around in complete insanity with_ **the idea that his baby had murdered his wife and orphaned his four good sons** as an unconscionable act of petty vengeance for a punishment he had received before they went to their ski vacation. Sometimes, when he was drunk only enough to be tipsy, his mother's poisonous words of half-baked religious nonsense flittered around his head, reminding him that " _children were inherently evil and needed the rod to beat the devil out of their heart"_.

And he was beaten plenty. It's easy to say " _a spanking is not abuse_ " and then demonstrate a gentle little swat on the baby's thickly padded diaper. It even looks non-violent, reasonable and perhaps even effective at correcting the child safely and gently. What a load of bitchcrap.

Try the same spiel " _it's not abuse_ " but after yanking off the baby's diaper, using a big wooden spoon or heavy leather belt to hit until the baby had bruising then multiply by as many people in the house who are older than said baby. With Grant still alive until he was 5 years old, Ruth, Jeff, Scott, Virgil and Gordon that made six prison guards taking turns at hitting the little inmate of the hellish jail their rural farmstead had become.

When Alan was 5 years old and Grant Hugh Tracy died, the pressure in the family lessened a bit for a short while. Grant had been merciless on the poor, miserable baby, being the most vocal about blaming the infant for his mother's accidental death. It is important to note that neither Grant nor Ruth had ever been particularly stable nor in fact really sane at any point of their lives.

As soon as Lucille died, all the boys aged 11 and above were sent to boarding school since Jeff was so emotionally damaged and psychologically defective that he couldn't juggle his unstable parents, the kids and the company at the same time anymore. When IR went from dream to emerging reality, he would never have been able to tolerate the noisy, dirty, disturbing presence of the kids for more than a few days during school vacations. Even then he was now chronically short tempered, unstable, unreliable and had become prone to spontaneous fits of violence like he never had before in his life.

When Jeff bought the abandoned island and US Navy missile base, deep in the southern part of the Pacific ocean to move the entire household, it hadn't been an innocent choice. Jeff would now be away from neighbors, schools, churches, social services and police forces. He removed himself and his children away from anybody with an opinion contrary to his own about rules and disciplining his boys that could have any authority to force him to act like a proper father despite his delusions.

 **Things got steadily worse from then on for all his boys.**

The only way he got his older sons to ever come back home from boarding school or follow the specific career training he wanted them to obtain for their pre-assigned posts in IR was to threaten to give upon Gordon and Alan the punishments incurred by them if they weren't present to receive their proper dues.

 _Wasn't that a proof of resplendent success for a project based on rescuing the needy and defenseless..._

When Alan was 9 years old, he was assaulted badly by Ruth during some sort of mental breakdown she suffered while babysitting Alan, all alone on her farm in Kansas City's rural outer limits. Since he was too young for boarding school, Alan stayed with Ruth at the farm and attended the local public elementary school, going and returning by the county's yellow buses. When he was home, his grand-mother was supposed to make him work physically in the barns, sheds and fields to accumulate muscle mass, strength and develop the agility, speed and reflexes needed for work either in Tracy Industries or International Rescue when he was old enough.

At that time, Jeff had decided to evacuate the island for some major repairs after a rather nasty typhoon and wanted to take advantage of the emptiness to intensify the centrally controlled domotics and spying systems to better command and constrict his boys when they returned. So he wasn't at the farmstead as he had been scheduled, his visceral need to dominate and control taking precedence over the welfare of his children who actually were very happy to spend more time away from the devolving brute or each other to dodge the ' _servant of the eldest_ ' system.

Ruth Hardale Tracy however hadn't taken lightly to her precious vacation schedule being undone; she had really wanted time alone to recover her patience and energies without Jeff and his brood of wild piglets running around her house. Then she got the news via some cheap email from an anonymous secretary at Tracy Tower that Jeff was leaving the older boys in their boarding schools during the long weekend while stranding the dirty whining ragamuffin on her lap so he could repair his utopic paradise island in peace. That inane message had her blow every fuse in her brain-box and go berserk.

Poor little Alan had to be rushed to Kansas City's hospital for treatment of the utmost urgency. He died twice on the table during the multiple surgeries needed to save both his life and his crushed larynx. His voice box was almost not saved. He had defensive spiral fractures on both arms, one knee dislocated and the ankle on the other leg was cracked. He had suffered 3 broken and seven cracked ribs. His chest, back, buttocks and soles of the feet were covered in raised deeply bruised welts left by whipping with an electrical cord. Nobody could explain how the young child came out of it without any damages to his eyes, ears or nose as pretty much every other part of him was damaged badly.

It was another miracle that Hiram's medical knowledge and dexterity came through again for Alan's sake, not Jeff's power, authority and mighty status as _American Hero who conquered Mars_. Following this event, Jefferson was wracked with guilt as there was no way for even his deeply diseased mind and deformed slant on reality to justify murdering a baby boy as discipline, no matter the offense his ailing, elderly mother had imagined he did. Not surprisingly, the local Family Courts didn't see it as legitimate disciplinary methods either.

 _We wonder why?_

Panicking about the high risk of his family being destroyed and his children getting ripped away from his arms ( _control_ ) Jeff made a ( _sweet / secret_ ) deal with the local DCFS agents to create an extra trust fund for Alan, separate from the one he already had since his healthy birth as his fifth son. This extra monetary endowment was to _pay_ Alan for the suffering his violent grand-mother had inflicted as well as _compensating_ him for Jeff's complete lack of oversight and follow up with his mother even though he had doubts about her stability at the time. In reality, he was paying off the boy to keep quiet while also bribing the officials who knew by placing them as paid trustees to manage and dispense the trust fund in the child's name. To give it a better layer of legitimacy he had provided the men's salaries separately from the trust itself to say publicly that no one was exploiting his young vulnerable son in his time of need.

 **That backfired spectacularly as the present events were showing.**

Alan had then demonstrated he actually possessed an incredible intellect and rare capacity to see things in multiple dimensions as Michel de Nostradamus was reputed able of doing. Some weird genetic quirk that linked eyes, ears and hands together into a super neuronal computing system inside the child's brain. It allowed Alan to design simple but efficient and cost-effective homesteading devices to help farmers and homeowners better renovate or secure their property. He used his trust fund to manufacture and sell the stuff and rapidly made a tidy little sum. He was actually profitable in his first year of operation, something Jeff had not managed with Tracy Heavy Industries despite the NASA contract he had at the start as seed money to build up his dream company.

Alan continued making efforts, innovations and investments into his company and the trust fund itself, making it completely autonomous. Because of how Jeff had incorporated the fund to make it seem as legit as possible, only Alan and the board of trustees that he, the child, chose and vetoed annually controlled the company, not Jeff. The entire thing jumped out of the strict, power-mad father's control at the end of the first year and became a beast with its own life.

After five years of operation, the trust had made Alan richer than his four older siblings if you discounted the original Tracy-birth trust fund that each had received. THAT was one information Jefferson had always kept hush-hush in fear his other children might use money and lawyers to get out of hand, especially John who also had his own incorporation to manage his book copyrights. Past the age of 21, the older sons exhibited a genuine risk of flying into such a rage at their unjust, inhuman treatments that they could break off his chains of control over them and start using their own considerable education, training and money holdings to fight him to get free from his cult-like hold on their souls.

He had been left with the menace of last resort: threaten to hurt Alan or even Gordon if the three oldest tried anything to leave or take away his authority and power. In his great fear at appearing weak, out of control or unable to instill proper deference and obedience into his children, he had taken the decision to break their strong, free, creative spirits once and for all.

He had been taught this way by his father when he was but a child as he watched his three older brothers taken to the barn to be whipped raw, coming back home with deeply bruised welts. All four sons of Grant Hugh Tracy had been in that barn many hundreds of times over their youth. It was why each enlisted in the services just out of high school, to escape the crazy religious zealot and his partially sane wife who was well matched to him. All three of his older brothers died violently in altercations with the civilian police, all before the age of 25. His mother had burned all their pictures and forbidden they be shown as related to her until she died and no longer cared.

God, how Jeff despised his parents when he was really honest about it. It was just too bad he had been so badly damaged and mis-programmed in his youth that he wound up turning into carbon copies of them both. He was as wrathful and vindictive as Grant but moody, unreliable and doggishly territorial like Ruth.

He had kept his parents at hand only to control what they said to the medias about his childhood and about his own wife and kids, not because of any love remaining. Grant had become a drunken gossip-monger in his retirement while Ruth was stone cold sober but vengeful and prone to vitriolic diatribes about how she didn't raise her sons without values and discipline like the slovenly cads they had become in adulthood. She always said Jeff was too weak and permissive with his boys, especially when they were between 11 and 15 years old. Why that age? Jeff didn't have a clue and probably neither did Ruth. She tended to operate on raw instinct all the time, not logic or thought-out plans. It showed in her choice of husband and how she raised her four sons.

 **Botched homecoming**

 _(Frederic Chopin – Funeral March)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 17:11pm**

 **Tracy Island, main common terrace in front of the house**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

Jefferson stood up and tried uselessly to wipe his wet eyes and tear tracks on his face. It was a lost cause and he knew it. Might as well get out of the office and go see if Alan needed any help after his new ordeal in the hospital. Another secret, another layer of guilt. Another crime to hide and cleanse with money and gifts he didn't mean or emotionally connect with despite being the giver.

Ever since Jeff had begun seeing a therapist via web-phone four months ago and taking the prescribed anti-depressants and anti-adrenaline medications he had reconnected with reality in a bad way. The mess he had made of all their lives wasn't a hallucination; it was the sad, untenable situation they had to deal with. If things were allowed to progress further down this dangerous slope, they would fall down a chasm and never return.

As the older man walked slowly into the living room at the height of the outer ring and doors to the main terrace in the front of the house, Jeff noticed an absence of youthful noise and brotherly hazing as would normally happen when his last boy arrived back from the mainland. He studiously ignored the fact that said noises were never joyous and always meant to anger or humiliate Alan with queries about his last disaster or how bad his grades had gotten. If they only knew the truth...

Spotting Lady Penelope in the deep shadows cast by the wide awning just outside the wide open patio doors, he crossed the sumptuous living room by marching down through the central lower seating area around the holo projectors and back upwards the far side towards his long time friend and occasional paramour. Another thing his boys growled about more and more but were afraid to comment on in front of him. Apparently, challenging an old dog about his mating habits was bad for the health of the younger mutts. Another bad habit of his he needed to stop and apologize for.

"Hello Penny darling. Was the trip easy? I don't hear my son or Fermat for that matter. Were they okay on the trip back?"

He really meant to ask if they had obeyed and complied to adult decisions. While he could not actually punish Fermat lest he challenge Hiram directly, he could talk with the engineer and ask for some sort of corrective measures to be validated by him with his own eyes. Although, the last time he did that, he had not gotten very far. Not further than Brain's villa's vestibule. To say he had been rebuffed was a joke in poor taste. Hiram pointed a small automatic pistol at his face and warmed him to never again attempt to harm his son the way he did with his own five sons.

The shock was still felt in his jolted nerves, despite it being 7 years since the events. Nowadays, he blessed Brains for having the gumption to stand up to him and actually shelter the boys when he could have done real injurious damages to them. It was just too damn bad he hadn't been present at McVeigh Academy five months ago when he had that altercation with Alan that resulted in the child going to the hospital yet again.

Jeff waited patiently for his dear female friend to acknowledge him but he was beginning to worry. No sign of the younger boys, no Tanusha coming up to see Alan and welcome him back as she had been doing since the last two years. No Fermat and Hiram talking a mile a minute about all they had missed of each other's lives. What was it that suddenly had his fight-or-flight reflexes triggering?

Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, the daughter of a dear old friend from English nobility, slowly turned around left-wise and showed the side of her face to Jeff. He backed off in aghast surprise, followed by immediate rage that was instinctive when facing the blotchy bruise on the side of her face.

"Alan chose alternate conveyances to arrive Dear, but he sent me with a message for you, Darling. He was displeased at the latest batch of surgeries to repair the newest damages that you inflicted upon him, five months ago at McVeigh Academy when you thought him guilty of starting the chemistry lab fire that hurt so many students and faculty. He sends his crassest disregards and a warning: he will no longer tolerate your existence in his life. The injuries are too much; the risk of never recovering too great. Should you try to come near him with violent intentions, he will sell you out. If you try to strong-arm him into submissiveness during the meeting that will happen later on today, he may well take far more extreme and final measures against anyone named Tracy."

Jefferson was dumbstruck by the understated events: Alan who adored Penelope and practically wished out loud that Jeff and her finally tied the knot had hit her across the face in anger. Why in tarnation would the teenager do that? And where had Parker been during that event?

Then he almost doubled over in pain, guilt and self-recriminations as he was forced to remember the events of Alan's most recent suffering at his hands as if they were yesterday. Swaying on his feet as if groggy from too much alcohol, the old airman had no choice but to sit on the patio chair and put his head between his knees in an effort to regulate his breathing and take time to order his thoughts.

 **{ TB } - { Flashback** **} - { TB }**

Back five months ago, in January 2060, the boarding school had called about a massive fire in the building where the science classes were held. Thankfully, it was a newer construction, less than 20 years old compared to the centenary dormitory edifices. Thankfully the sprinklers had worked and they had enough fire-escape stairwells to evacuate everyone alive. But still, there had been many bad injuries, specifically in the laboratory where Alan and Fermat were sharing a class in chemistry.

Jeff had taken Scott and Virgil to New York on a tour of the Tracy Tower so as to show them the departments and innovations they were working on. It was a banal trip, meant as a way to try and diffuse some of the angry, vitriolic atmosphere that had been festering in the family since the Christmas holidays which had again devolved into anger, recriminations and punishments against all five boys because this time they had tried to stand up together against his abusive attitude. The older man had become partially aware of the state of his children after a decade drowning in the miasma of his own depressive, self-denying idiocy, but not enough to actually stop himself.

He had sent a short-tempered, confrontational Gordon away to Europe on a delivery of IR documents to the GDF headquarters that were really too sensible for a regular currier to handle as the boy had already become markedly unstable at the time. Jeff had thought the small two-day vacation away from the island and his paternal disciplinings would do him good. A little leeway in the leash would refresh his spirits enough to give him new energy and focus. It hadn't, but Jeff hadn't seriously expected any truly positive results either.

Jeff had begun suspecting his kids were all damaged at this point and was trying to find the source. Predictably in his state, he was still looking anywhere but himself at the time, the proof of his depravity not yet having reached the level he could not ignore. But then it did and it was too late to change, apologize or heal anymore.

As they were in their penthouse in the tower's last floor when the call came, Jeff, Scott and Virgil just climbed up a flight of stairs to the rooftop air pad and took off in their present official family aircraft: Tracy six, a hypersonic jet capable of mach 7 and VTOL maneuvers. They reached McVeigh's in record time for a civilian ship. When they arrived, they unloaded the SUV from the plane's cargo compartment and high tailed it to the grounds of the school campus. When they reached the visitor's parking lot, they had a lot of trouble being identified as parents of a student as it was a damned bordello all over the place.

The fire and rescue teams were swamped, the police was overflowing with parents and legal proxies trying to find the kids they were responsible for in the mess, and in the background there were the screams of pain, the moans of the semi-conscious children and the roaring blaze of the inferno going strong. Even more fire-fighting equipment kept coming in, as well as police cars and technical support trucks. It seemed as though every ambulance in the county was on its way to McVeigh's area and ready to roll on top of the parked cars to get there.

Even John aboard T5 hadn't been able to find much more than the usual chatter from the firefighters, ambulance and police frequencies he continuously scanned. The rescuers had been deployed quite rapidly for such a rural area outside of Kansas City, even further away than the Tracy farmstead. Honestly, Jeff and his sons had no blame or complaints against the professionals in the field, they were doing better than expected if truth be told. It' just that Jefferson had fallen victim to his own success: instead of taking almost a full day to get there from New York by normal commercial flights, they had been there in about an hour flat.

There was no news because the people on the ground were still in the basic beginnings of large scale operations that were realistically expected to take all day and well into the night. With a blaze this size, that had started in one building and spread to three others by the winds and underground utilities tunnels that spread around the campus, it was actually a conservative estimate. Scott voiced his opinion they'd be lucky to stop the flames by dawn the morning after while Virgil actually contested that by reminding them of the massive emergency diesel generators and their fuel cisterns that lay in another hundred year old bunker at the back of campus, near the dormitory housings. Things could still become much, much worse if the wind turned or the school's water pipes stopped feeding the water pumps in the firefighting trucks.

As they were waiting around for the police officer to inform them of the status of Alan and Fermat, they heard an ugly rumor going around by some older students in the 16 to 17 year age bracket. They were heinously gossiping amongst themselves, ignoring the adults and professionals around as if they had no care in the world. They were bitching about the _fucktard little Tracy tosser_ in chem lab who should have died for all the trouble he caused them. An enraged Scott had moved before either his father or brother could stop him.

Upon being confronted by the tall, strong and obviously angry young adult, the group of teens responded not by fear but by evasive answers, bitchings, insults, put downs about Tracy's in general and some clearly ill-informed slurs about Alan and Fermat's faggotry and queerness. Then, the burliest of the group, also apparently the dumbest too, came out and claimed that Alan had been dicking around chem class all trimester to date but all the detentions he got never deterred him. The visibly rebellious and ill-mannered little bastard accused Alan, without proof of any kind but his spoken word, of having ' _probably done something jack-ass like_ ' to the vials of products used during the experiment portion of the class to make himself some fun at the expense of others. The boy and his cronies all claimed, _again without proof in hand_ , that Alan had a cruel habit of doing that and bullying people who didn't want to bow down to his high and mighty Tracy name.

Jeff saw red as this; if true, this would prove publicly that he wasn't man enough to train and control a mere slip of a boy under his watch. The father, already among the very strict, domineering types and used to physical domination as his modus operandi, lost all self-control and capacity to reason in a torrent of contempt, despise, scorn and raw seething rage against the little defective crud who had the gall to call himself his son.

Jeff plowed through the crowds blindly for almost an hour, searching wildly without any real method or direction when the three angry relatives came upon ambulances a bit more aside, a little less crowded as they had arrived about forty minutes ago and were directed to a secondary school's staff parking. This zone was for the victims triaged as gravely injured but not with life threatening issues, mostly smoke inhalation or superficial burns from touching the hot metal banisters of the stairs as they escaped. It was here they accidentally found Alan and Fermat being tended by a pair of paramedics who had to split their efforts between thirteen patients spread amongst five ambulances parked side by side closely to create a healing hub.

Since both medics were occupied separately inside two different vehicles and Fermat was semi-conscious at that point after suffering a massive asthma attack that made him blackout, nothing stopped Jeff from rampaging his way to Alan's gurney. Out of all reason or logic, no longer in control of his thinking faculties after two hours of stress, anxiety and now a shot of rage, Jeff grabbed his defenseless injured son by the throat with both hands, his thumbs crushing his larynx and voice-box in such a way the young teen could not speak, call for help or even breathe anymore.

Scott looked on with a nasty crooked smirk as if he thought the kid had it coming while Virgil closed his eyes and turned away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, ashamed of his little brother whom he thought had indeed started the fire as the other kids said. Neither of the three older Tracy's had stopped to ask school staff for any information about Alan, the kids who gave the story nor any other sort of evidence research and validation of any sorts. And since John using Five's massive sensors and wiretapping systems hadn't been able to find any informations or proofs either ways, the three on the ground ran with what they had: hateful rumors started by jealous, spiteful little delinquents who wanted to get the other child in trouble with his family in payback for whatever slight they imagined having received from him.

It was another of the victims in the gurney nearby, a large boy of 18 years, rugby player and proctor for the school who bull-rushed Jeff and tackled him to the ground while mercilessly inflicting as many elbow strikes to the face and neck as he could since his hands were swathed in burn cream and bandages. He may also have kneed him in the gonads twice and put all his 210 pounds of well muscled weight on the adult's left foot, dislocating the ankle quite badly enough that Jeff would limp for the rest of his life from then on.

The young adult student's vengeful stampede in the defense of the presumed mass-murderer of children and teachers stunned the two adult Tracy sons even more senseless for about five seconds, giving the paramedics time to hear the commotion and enraged screams of their father as he scuffled on the dirty pavement with the absolutely relentless teenager. Suffice it to say that seeing their juvenile charges being assaulted by an adult while two others stood uselessly with their dicks in hand did not go over well. Neither medic bothered to listen to the wrathful stories spouted off by Jeff and his two eldest; they called the cops and promptly accused them of assault, battery, endangering the life of a child by interrupting his treatment for air, attempted murder by chocking him which was especially grave since his throat and lungs were already damaged and straining to work.

The cops had no mercy and no care that Jeff was rich and the third biggest jobs provider in Kansas at that point: child torture and assassination would always get you a ride to the precinct and a speedy date with a judge.

It was at the booking cells in the courthouse that the shit hit the fan. All three Tracy's were cooling off their rage in the drunk tank of all places since they had been so out of control the cops thought they were drugged on steroids or some other rage-inducing synthetic narcotic with a bad psycho-active side effect. They were all given mandatory blood tests and put under close watch for symptoms of overdose or degenerating to a psychotic state.

Suffice it to say this was a red letter day in the history of Jefferson Grant Tracy and his family at large.

It got worse when the Family lawyer got here almost seven hours later, escorted by both John who had come down from Five and Gordon who flew back to the Island from Europe at Thunderbird 2's maximal velocity.

Alan was in the hospital with pulmonary and laryngeal problems now classed as life-threatening if not surgically treated in the following 12 hours. John had told them in a cold dead tone that the youngest child of the house had slipped into a coma in the ambulance tasked with taking him to hospital after the attack by their father had bumped his case up in the triage list from manageable to critical. The doctors were not certain he would make it as he had a cardiac event just as the ambulance was docking at the hospital's emergency intake portal.

In a scornfully scathing voice dripping venom all over the place, Gordon added his two bits: the group of five teenagers that had told their father Alan was to blame for the fire and attempted mass-murder by arson of some three hundred students had been arrested and were in fact the ones being charged with the entirety of the almost-massacre of the day. The group were the school's worse truants, delinquents, vandals and violent bullies to boot. They ALWAYS scapegoated their misdeeds unto other kids, even if you had video films of them in action to prove their guilt.

All five lied systematically and liberally, never caring whose life their hypocrisy and perjury destroyed in the process as they thought that to be great fun too. All of them had been suspended repeatedly during their stay and two had gone to three or more schools during their adolescence because of problems with violence, theft and vandalism. However their rich parents always paid out the victims to keep quiet and let them change establishment on the sly before charges could be brought up.

Jeff had almost murder his defenseless son for no good reason while his two other boys looked on in emotionally deadened apathy, not caring if he lived or not anymore as with him dead the rest were all adults and they could finally leave the island to start new lives elsewhere, away from Jeff's own relentless emotional and physical violence.

Alan had spent almost five weeks in the hospital. The first two in Kansas City to stabilize him and the next three in New York as there was a medical center just four blocks away from Tracy Tower and it made the transit easier on his sons to visit their injured brother. It took three weeks for him to wake up and he wasn't the same. His outlook on life was changed in a bad way that Jeff could not even fathom as he could not image any logic or rationale other than his own twisted, dislocated fantasy anymore.

Jefferson had needed to swallow his pride, ego and self-important image to deal with the judge and the same team of DCFS peons that he had paid off five years prior. It did not go anywhere near as well this time around. The despondent father and his two depressive sons were released from jail on a hefty bail after four days and then set loose for good after a secret closed-doors meeting with the Kansas Governor who issued a ( _paid_ ) pardon for the three Tracy's, under a cloud of questionable electoral contributions, heightened taxes for the company's manufacturing plant and participating in a social program to hire children coming out of foster care for their first full-time job.

It had been a financially, politically and socially costly error of judgment, although he hadn't been in any shape to judge anything at the time, but try telling that to the damn bureaucrats...

 **{ TB } - { End of Flashback** **} - { TB }**

Jeff raised his head and laid back into the backrest of the chair, tilting his head rearwards until he was looking at the awning overhead. He was crying fitfully again and didn't see that ending any time soon.

Ever since that event five months ago, Alan and Fermat had been moved to Wharton's Academy for boys in Massachusetts so that they could finish their high school studies in peace and quiet, away from any other establishment any Tracy had ever been in before. It had been a suggestion from john and a good one to date if his brother's end-of-year report was to be believed. It was his best to date of all his formal school-based education. It was in the same category as John did at that age. Exceptional and beyond what both schools had though he was capable of achieving. Enough that even with an emergency transfer from McVeigh at mid-year, the Wharton Academy _placement evaluations committee_ wanted Alan to skip not one but two full grades. They wanted him to be part of the graduating class with the 17-18 year olds rather than with the 15 year olds, even the advanced placement classes as they were not advanced enough to keep his youngest boy challenged and interested.

 **And wasn't that a stab in the skull with a pickaxe.**

Alan had performed consistently all year far above the bar Jefferson had set as the minimal standard to be admitted into International Rescue as a cadet trainee to evaluate his true skill set before granting him the full membership if he passed all the tests. Alan had been greatly motivated to succeed and had surprised the hell out of his father and four brothers when they did a trial run of those very same promotion tests back in July last year. He aced fully half of them and came within one or two points of the 75% passing grade asked by Jeff on the others despite having almost never any practice time on the simulators or gyms reserved for IR's specific swimming, rappelling and spelunking exercises.

And now this fuck-all mess was about to fall into his lap and he could not find any solution. No matter what he tried, the blame lay on him and the entire family would explode around him. Nothing, no one, no miracle could intervene and stop it.

Giving one last desperate glance towards a woman whom he cared for deeply but did not really love despite all appearances, he stood and walked back to his office, closing the doors and shutters once inside. He sent a priority email to all his sons that an unforeseen visitor was arriving at the island soon; they needed to prepare the lower landing strip for heavy transit and clear out the hangars in case the vehicle stayed for a few days.

Jefferson passed a hand over his stress-wrinkled face, feeling in his bones a thrumming weariness as he had not felt since that fateful avalanche eleven years ago, when Alan had been comatose so long. It was the same all over again, except this time it wasn't nature responsible for his boy's injuries and the incertitude hovering over the family. It was him alone.

The veteran astronaut dropped his tall heavy frame into his plush chair behind his desk and looked again at the picture of his late wife, imagining the shame and horror she would have felt at what he did. She would have divorced him then made him have an accident. Or killed him straight off then divorced the corpse. With her temper, she would have been hard pressed to decide and being prone to impulse control problems when her kids were threatened, it was hard to say what she would have chosen.

Not that it mattered anymore other than for his fevered mind and sorrowful guilt. Jeff was honest enough now that he was finally being treated and medicated properly to admit the last person in the house who should be allowed remorse or sorrow was him. After all he had done to his children, he for sure had passed the allotted quota of mistakes a man is allowed with his precious treasures and forgiveness was no longer an option.


	2. Chapter 2

The author wishes to express thanks to anyone who may read his story and encourages them to leave reviews, comments or even flame it hard. As with any who try their hand at publicly expressing an idea or story concept, all feedback is important and welcome.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Thunderbirds, nor any other sci-fi or fantasy series, movies, comics, cartoons or news items used in this fiction as they belong to the creators or broadcasters or publishers who put them out for consumption by the public.

 **WARNING** ; the language level of this one is not too particularly trashy when we consider a story based on ex-cons, ex-military men, high risk situations and rescue specialists dealing with everybody's crap and messes on top of their own. Also, it was series canon that the entire Tracy household swore like drunken sailors on an hourly basis. They cleaned up the language a whole lot more than spic-&-span in the 2004 movie and 2015 series. Remember the internal joke that the " **all clear** " call phrase " **FAB** " actually spells out " **Fuck It All, Boys!** " because of how often Jefferson was absolutely livid with rage at all five sons at the same time. It was transformed as a familial joke to tell each other that if Dad was able to get angry to scold or punish, then they were all healthy and doing fine at whatever was happening as Jeff had always told them " _Rescue first, heal second then order the House after everything else is done and packed away._ "

 **However** , as I always warn people who read my work: this language was pretty much normal in the school yard 30 years ago when I was a teenager. So, how can you have such a thin skin and be part of the same culture on the same continent if this is really that offensive to you? Where did you spend the last few decades, if you can't take a few hard words from the mouths of kids when these words have been around since before World War I?

 **Thunderbirds**

 **LOST VOICE chapter 2**

 **A Hard Decision**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – space flight theme)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 17:29pm**

 **Tracy Island**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

Scott Carpenter Tracy was morose, despondent and fully depressive today. And why not? It was the yearly return from school for the summer vacations and his little sibling was coming to them.

Scott wasn't stupid by a long shot; he knew full well that Alan would never willingly set foot on this God-forsaken island if not for the Law and the obligation to obey Jefferson until he was 18 years old at the least.

Scott, John, Virgil and Gordon wouldn't be here either, if it didn't mean leaving Alan all alone in the hands of that depraved, criminally insane bastard spawn of a cur and his bitch. **And please, don't correct his language!** He knew his grand-parents and had lived with them long enough to affirm the descriptions were both accurate and well deserved!

Sighing miserably in the cool sea breeze, the young adult had troubles concentrating. The medications prescribed by the psychologist in Sidney (Australia) were affecting his senses, equilibrium and capacity to focus again. Not that the man protested much, as it was a better state of affairs than what he felt when he wasn't stoned out of his few remaining wits.

Being sober meant he realized just how much he had allowed dad to hurt all his little brothers. It meant acknowledging all the harm he had let happen against the little baby boy who had mistakenly called him 'dada' when Scott was just barely 14 years old because Grant was at the hospital again and Jefferson was nowhere in sight for months at a time.

They should have made a stronger, more concerted effort, he and John, to keep the kids organized together and the adults out of their lives. Grant and Ruth were Jesus nutters with grand-dad's alcoholism thrown in. Dad had always been hard to please and fast to take up his spanking-stick but never actually violent to the point of scaring his boys about their safety. How that had changed for the worse when mom was no longer around to act as a handbrake to his spinning wheels.

Sitting on a surprisingly clean boulder that was his favorite 'chair' in the area, Scott slumped down on himself, looking forlornly at his hands, shame and despise radiating from his entire being. How often in the last ten years had these hands given hurt, shame and injuries on his little brothers?

If it hadn't been for the presence of Hiram Hackenbacker and his capacity to stare down Jefferson during his worse discombobulated rages, they would have _handicapped animals_ crawling around the island instead of able-bodied siblings. And given the actual states of Virgil and Gordon along with his own, saying they were anywhere near able-bodied, or still humans, was a pipe dream in its own category!

No, it couldn't last any longer. They wouldn't be able to endure until Alan was 18 years old and capable of getting away from Jeff. At this rhythm, all four adult brothers would be crippled physically and spiritually before the end of the current year, possibly dead by voluntary negligence on a rescue or flat out suicide before next summer hols.

They had to do something but what? With dad's multiple connections and piles of cash on hand, how could they fight the government with its police agencies, military and the GDF on top who would all bend-over backwards to please Jefferson and get some love ( _money or cheap tech_ ) in return for their good and faithful services towards his great and mighty heroic self.

Fucktards the lot of them!

Having duly contemplated suicide over the last five months to pay for the atrocity committed against Alan while he stood there unmoving and uncaring, Scott had come to the inescapable conclusion that he knew about five years ago already, after the mess with Ruth.

 _Jeff had to die for them to be free and safe at last._

Years ago, the thought of going to prison for several decades, or even facing execution, for killing the **Icon of American Greatness** had scared him witless. Now he no longer had any wits to lose and the physical pain was eclipsed easily by the gaping chasm inside his cold, torn soul. It now became an easy, acceptable choice.

 _Jeff had to die._

Soon.

Today, in fact.

It was the return from school, today. Alan would come into the Tracy house, not his home by a long shot, and be set upon by his brothers who would haze him about everything, especially the McVeigh fire and change of school. They would ask if he set anything else ablaze and how many detentions had he gotten yet. They would hurt his poor, crushed bleeding heart and maybe even smack him around a bit in the name of ' _brotherly playfulness_ ' despite all his injuries and recent stay in hospital.

Well no. Bloody Hell, no!

Not this year! Not if Scott had anything to say in this family anymore!

He was the oldest and the strongest of the lot. It was his duty as the oldest sibling to protect and guide the youngest and it was damn time he did his job at last.

The others would follow John's lead and be kind and respectful towards Alan or else!

As for Jefferson... Scott had done like most US soldiers did: he had bought his service side-arm when the minimal period for such a privilege had passed. He had the Beretta 9mm in his nightstand drawer in a small steel gun safe. It was time to pull it out and use it in anger again.

His brothers would be safe and free, no matter the cost to himself anymore.

Maybe he could sleep without night terrors or medications when he had his self-respect again.

 **Home is where the hurt is**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – conflict theme)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 17:41pm**

 **Tracy Island**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

Virgil Grissom Tracy was walking down the tall concrete staircase from the doughnut-shaped library with great carefulness in each painfully slow shuffling step as he leaned heavily on his right hand that clamped the guardrail as if his life depended on it. He was trying at the same time, without much success, to rub his paint-stained hands with an equally stained old rag that did little but redistribute the colors without much cleaning at all, a lot like his life and hurts these passed few months. It might also have been coloring the stair's railing but he somehow hadn't seen it in his preoccupation.

Virgil was now reduced from an athletic capacity geared towards heavy strength-based efforts and long-term endurance down to having troubles walking without leaning on walls and furniture because of the repeated, systematic thrashings to his bare ass with any sort of object available whenever dad, grandma or Scott flew into a rage and decided that some well-deserved _corporeal disciplinings_ needed to happen to set him back in line with the expectations of his ' _betters_ ' in life.

The result was that he had lost about 35% of his mobility and 60% of his agility in his lower limbs because the beatings were so frequent and clustered together that he never got the chance to fully heal anymore. Hence, Thunderbird 2's pilot was amongst the ' _walking_ ' wounded ( _irony much?_ ) for the last year or so. Not that he could walk that much anymore... So T2 wasn't going out that much either, much to the consternation of a certain power-mad tyrannical parent.

It started going downhill fast after the summer vacations of last year. Nobody knows why; it just did. Something snapped inside Jefferson and the man went from defective to destructive inside of about three weeks and then never relented until they spent time in jail, in separate cells, after McVeigh. Virgil had dared to hope for a reprieve or even a slow-down to all the stupid rules and punishments after that wake-up call had sounded. No such luck when dealing with a delusional cult leader.

 **Scott was now doped up to his gills.**

Virgil was the group's medic for the last 2 years, dammit! If anybody on the damned floating turd-pile of an island concentration camp would know the symptoms of drugs in action it would be him! One small sample of blood when Scooter had been asleep and voila!

Psychiatric prescriptions. Lots of them. All at the same time. Four fucking pills twice a day! And the two ampoules of liquids that were an experimental remedy invented by Hiram recently to repair cerebral matter lesions and fight off the degeneration of the brain following concussions.

What had dad been doing to his big brother inside that cursed office when the shutters and blast doors were closed?

 _Sniff!_ The young man wiped his teary eyes and runny nose with the sleeve of his red-checkered flannel shirt, trying to keep a straight face. The worse crime that he could ever commit in front of their father was to weep and make any sign that he thought dad was being unfair or cruel to his boys. He would be promptly yanked by the arm to the office for another paddling on his already injured ass under accusations of having defamed dad, perjury and criminally false accusations of abuse.

There is nothing to get a cult guru seeing red like saying out loud what his crimes were and who the victims were. Having the victims at hand to show the injuries and confirm the stories of abuse would simply seal the fate of the fool who tried to get the bastard to come out of his insanity-created bubble of fantasy.

Virgil wasn't stupid enough to try that a second time in his life; no sirree, he was not! The beating he got when he turned 18 was enough to remind him his station in life, thank you very much!

 **Gordon was spiraling down into darkness.**

Virgil wouldn't be surprised if any day now they would find him floating lifeless on top of the pool, the waters reddened by the blood from his slit wrists. Or he would jump off one of the cliffs into the ocean after having raided the medicine cabinets in the infirmary to stone himself out of any capacity to swim and survive.

Virgil didn't really know whether he wanted to keep his baby brother alive or wish him luck in his attempt to escape the fascist parent's power-mad control over their lives. God knew with all his wealth and contacts, death was the only way to dodge out on Jefferson Grant Tracy for good.

 **John was starving himself again.**

At least he wasn't cutting or picking his skin anymore. Virgil was thankful for small mercies and truly hoped that the astronaut would come out of all this with more sanity and better health than the others. He hoped but wasn't stupid enough to believe he would, or could.

A few years ago, when John had turned 18, while training for T5 before going on that dingy month-long mission to the ISS as part of a NASA internship arranged by Jeff, he had put his foot down. He would not be a monster like Jeff and help beat down the younger boys as if they were animals.

Their father's wrath had been so intense and explosive it had shaken the island and scared everybody to the point that Hiram had managed to convince Kyrano Bellegant, for the one and only time to date, to intervene before he killed John or another of his children in his rage.

They had raced to find Jeff and John by following the dueling bellows of irrational fury and piteous screams for mercy to the ground floor's normal gymnasium, next to the solarium and Jeff's office.

The control obsessed father had attacked his second oldest son by throwing gym equipment at him and, when nothing else could easily move anymore, followed by punches and kicks that had already battered john's tall lanky form quite badly at that point. Jefferson was in the act of wrapping a skipping rope around his right fist with the obvious intention of using it as a whip to flog John to submission when the two adult men ran into the room and tackled him to the floor with Hiram raining down fists, feet and insults of his own furious version.

Jeff was never again able to look at the normally shy, self-effacing engineer again out of sheer shame at having fallen to his blows. Brains was practically the living incarnation of ' _anti-sportive_ ' so how the Hell could a tall, athletic and muscular man like Jefferson Tracy lose to him like that? You heard right! It wasn't being caught almost murdering his second-born by slow torture that shamed him; it was his take-down by the underfed, non-exercising technical genius recluse that got to him!

 _"Retarded piece of unclean stinking shite!"_

Virgil hated his father more than he despised his own weakness and incapacity to stand up against the madman's tyranny only because it was Jeff that made him this way.

 **And now Alan was coming back to all this.**

 _Snort!_ Daddy was contrite and crying all the time now... Supposedly the bitchy little cunt had gotten his brains back in gear after those four days in jail in Kansas and had finally found help. He had a therapist he consulted daily over web-phone and several anti-depressors to take four times a day non-stop.

Virgil wasn't impressed in the least.

He understood that dad had an attack of remorse but that would not last. Sectarian gurus never repented about anything and never played the ' **remorse** ' card any longer than needed to get back control over their peons before cracking down even worse on those who had made the complaints. Jefferson might be playing the tune the way society said he had to, but he'd never done that in his life before, he wouldn't tolerate it for long now.

Besides, the ugly truth about mental illness was that people who suffered from that kind of disease could not be trusted to heal by themselves out of a hospital. Every person who was diagnosed with mental illness always thought they were perfectly sane or would be fine after a week or two of popping pills as if it were a common flu to just wait out under the blankets with some chicken soup.

" _It's called_ **mental illness** _cuz, you know, you don't think straight anymore you twits!_ "

Anyways, now dad had some fancy pills and a high-priced medical he-whore on the line to pat him on the head like a cute little rabid puppy frothing at the mouth for the blood and misery of his sons.

Things were getting better in the family at long last, yes?

Hell, no!

It would take years for all of them to recover anything from their physical health, to say nothing of their mental stability! And don't get him started about the climate of violence and criminally insane negligence towards the welfare of the residents of the island!

Until his butt and thighs were no longer bruised black and purple and he had recovered all his range of feel, movement and agility, you wouldn't be able to convince him things were getting better! Not to mention the various parts of his chest, back and arms that got bruises, welts and even scratches from the repeated dragging around and ' _convincing_ ' him to march himself to the office or his bedroom so that the ' _deserved_ ' punishments could be applied in peace without Hiram or another sibling interfering...

No, things were not good and he didn't buy that it was getting better.

He just had no idea how to change anything at this point.

He didn't even know how to live or survive either.

Maybe Scotty had a good idea about those pills... Or maybe Gordon's idea about those cliffs wasn't so bad. At least there wouldn't be a mess to clean up and dad couldn't make a memorial for his corpse.

Virgil walked out of the armored staircase and into the corridor leading to the living room, the strange silence drawing him like a moth to a flame.

If Alan was back home with Fermat, then where in Tarnation was the noise and hazing? Gordon at least would make enough noise for the whole house to know their Allie-gator was back home.

The tall, _used-to-be_ athletic young adult leaned on the wall with his right arm as he slowly made his way into the actual living room and stopped at the sight. Only Lady P was seated in one of the plush brown leather sofas that also served as the downwards lifts to Thunderbird 3's gear-up chambers and launch preparation robotics. Where was Parker? Where were the other residents of the island? Scott at least would want to see Alan first-hand to make certain he had recovered from being man-handled at McVeigh by dad. His guilt would not let him forego this.

Deciding to make a man of himself for the first time in over three years since he last tried at his 18th birthday ( _Forget that memory! Now! Sanity depends on it!_ ) the young adult very slowly and carefully made his way down to the recessed area of the living room where he regretfully sat down after piling up three cushions on the already overstuffed sofa.

"Haaaa! That's better!" Virgil sighed out in relief while giving Penelope a sorrowful expression. He was aware that the woman knew of Jeff and Ruth's preferred method of enforcing household rules so any shame at her knowing about his butt getting busted was far in the past. What always got to his nerves though was that she never stopped the elders and never tried to reign in their worse depredations even when they happened in front of her. She had even told Parker to not step in when Jefferson got harsh to the point of outright violence with his children.

The Thunderbird 2's pilot never could intellectualize her decision about that. She was the **godmother** to the 2 youngest of them as she was four years older than Scott and had accepted the position in lieu of her father who had died when Scott was 14 and she 18, just after mom had gone.

Bah! The dumb pink bitch had never done anything much that was god-motherly for any of them! What a waste of effort and hope it had been, expecting any kind of help from her!

Finally somewhat less than uncomfortable on his cushions and leaning backwards to ease the strain on his bruised back and shoulders, Virgil could finally pay attention to the woman's pose and appearance. He blinked in disbelief as he saw the massive black and purple bruise covering the left side of he face.

 _Whistle!_ "Whoa! You go five rounds in the ring with Kayo again? At least tell me you got her this time around! She'll be insufferable for a week if you didn't!"

The young woman turned her desolate stare towards Virgil and for the first time in about five years, he felt something between sympathy and pity for her. Whatever had done that damage had not done so in a practice run, and certainly not gently. The male could recognize the signs of emotional breakdown following a backstabbing quite easily, having seen them in the mirror each morning since Ruth almost murdered Alan all those years ago.

Penelope swallowed passed the lump in her throat and spoke softly, her usually polite and soft voice coming out raspy with the strains of someone who had spent a great deal of time crying and sobbing in the recent hours. Another state that Virgil was familiar with intimately.

"It was Alan, dearie. He was not happy about his last stay in the hospital just before the school year's end, before the finals. The medical results were **disquieting** to him. When I visited him I tried to assure him of the support of his family and this was his response. Well, this and his desire than I never darken his doorstep again. He also asked me to bring his ' _crassest disregards_ ' to Jefferson so his father could know just how far his son's disrespect and loathing had gone. Hence, my presence in this condition."

The young logistics, transport and heavy rescue expert scratched the side of his head, accidentally transferring more color to his black hair without realizing it. Looking at the central wooden circular table that housed the massive holocom system, Virgil was at a loss for words. In fact he was completely dumbstruck by events.

Honestly man, What-The-Fuck? Didn't the kid know what Jeff would do about such publicly expressed disavowal of his great and mighty authority? Alan would be lucky to still be alive after the full-bodied beating he would get and would have to recover in silence, locked away in his room with all systems shut off to punish him further.

It wouldn't even be one of Jeff's patented ' _no nothing left to live with_ ' groundings but more like being mummified and buried alive in a crypt until school started again. And with such indocile rebellion, Virg was willing to bet what's left of his legs' mobility that dad would panic about his lack of control over Alan and decide to keep him on the island, supposedly for home schooling. In reality he would just keep him locked in his tomb and open the door only to inflict further beatings and emotional abuse.

This was not going to end well at all and the young engineer _cum_ paramedic would bet his hair that all four boys would be eating shit over this mess too. Dad always said the older kids were supposed to help him corral and control the youngest and he punished them too when the younglings did something truly momentously stupid. Palming his face with both hands, the third Tracy son could only see the images of his dead siblings lying on the floor after weeks of torturous depravities whilst Jefferson wiped his hands clean and proclaimed out loud to the empty room " _The first batch was a failure but the next one will work out fine_ " after which he would try to rape Tanusha to start a new batch of docile submissive peons to dominate and rebuild his sect.

Shaking his head along the flash of budding anger that emerged from the pit of his gut, Virgil grunted then heaved himself upright off the sofa. Taking a breath to steady himself in the standing position, he thumped the sided of his thighs a couple of times to get blood circulation flowing more and made his decisions quickly.

"Penny, when is Alan coming? And how? I doubt you brought him and Fermat over if he did that to your face? And where's Parker at, anyways?"

Swallowing in despair and deep sorrow, Lady Creighton-Ward put on her polite public mask and attempted to affect a breezy tone as she answered. It didn't fool Virgil anymore.

"Parker had to be _released from my service_ rather suddenly due to _health concerns_ of a somehow permanent kind, I'm afraid. As for the boys, Alan has informed me in detail about the secondary trust fund and corporate endeavors he has been successfully managing over the last five years. He has insured me he has ownership of a conveyance sufficient to carry himself and Fermat back to the island at his convenience. The actual vehicle was not detailed to me. He should arrive around 21:00pm island time. Anything else, dear boy?" she completed with a patently false smile that did nothing to hide her pain or shame from his expert gaze.

Virgil shook his head sideways in a negative then moved silently to walk up the stairs and out the living room, steadying his gait by leaning on the furniture and walls, leaving a second trail of multi-colored hand prints to match the line he did when coming in. The tall, stocky young man stopped for a few seconds to stare in surprise at the vividly colored mess he had left in his slow-motion wake and just couldn't help it anymore. He burst out laughing out loud, his grave voice echoing around the first floor of the house freely.

Well, there's no helping it now! If dad wasn't fit to be tied, this would do it on its own!

Deciding it really wasn't worth crying over spilled paint anymore, and the irony of that saying getting another burst of mirth, Virgil chuckled his way to his bedroom, passed the office and gymnasium. If Jefferson wanted to throw a wobbly and paddle him raw again, then he could try it! He could also fly his own overblown tow-truck _cum_ ambulance over to the next rescue site cuz him and Gords were done for life. Unless International Rescue and the Tracy household got new management today, he was quitting.

And he had just what he needed to insure that daddy dearest couldn't try to hurt him or his brothers anymore, not in this life or the next. And that freak-out eyes-opened dream he had about Jeff raping Tanu to get a new crop of minions to beat and exploit... **Grrr!** Nobody treated his spiritual-sister like that and lived!

Now where was that paper version of the _Compendia Medicalis_? He knew which pills dad took, he just had to see how he could slip him something else to emulate an overdose and all their problems would go away along with any questions the cops would have.

Anything else that was too probing or annoying and Virgil would have all the boys strip naked in front of the media and make the Washington pentawhores regret ever having heard the name 'Jefferson Tracy' in their lives!

Tonight they would live free of pain and shame or be dead and free anyways. Anyhow, he could accept the final outcome easily compared to what they had to endure.

 **Homeward bound**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – conflict theme)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 20:35pm**

 **Tracy Island**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

The living room of the Tracy estate was slowly filling up with people who were physically present but mentally far removed from their bodies, dwelling deep in their thoughts.

Jefferson sat at his secondary desk, an imitation of the original in his office, looking at the entire living area like a little provincial monarch lording over his fief full of paupers and slavish minions.

Scott sat in one of the brown sofas with an aviation magazine in one hand, a steel thermal mug of strong espresso in the other. His face had a closed-off expression that even his father could not read and the young adult didn't even try to look obedient or docile towards his parent, a sure sign things were coming to a head as Jeff had foreseen earlier in the day.

John had used Thunderbird 5's grappling claw / space elevator to come down to the island to ' _celebrate_ ' Alan's return from the school year. He looked thinner, paler and less healthy than five months ago when he had come to Kansas City to bail his relatives out of jail. In a complete break from his usual habits, he had changed clothes in the underground hangars rather than come up to his bedroom for a hot water shower and some time sitting on his section of the brothers' common terrace for some free-flowing island breeze. The second-born stood tall and lanky in the lowering sunlight near the wide patio doors to the principal terrace.

Virgil was now parked uneasily on a mound of cushions on a sofa in the other pair away from Scott, leaving two sofas available between the two brothers. He had shuffled in, moving with painfully visible attention to each step as he leaned on walls and furniture along the way. That had explained the colorful tracks around the house but nobody had dared say a word, even Jeff, as the young man's face was a study in pain and rage that gave pause to any who saw him.

The third-born was normally the most peaceful and placid of all Tracy's but now he was visibly making huge efforts at holding an incredible amount of anger, rage, wrath and shame inside. Nobody with any survival instincts still functional wanted to be the one who triggered him to explode.

Gordon was on the upper level of the living room, sat on the piano's bench, leaning backwards uncomfortably due to his still painful ' _disciplinary_ ' injuries against the instrument's closed keyboard. His position of affected calm and disinterest fooled no one. He had seen Penny's face like everybody in the room and heard the repeated message from Alan. He knew of the coming storm and didn't know how to feel about it. He'd ride it out and if anybody tried to stop Jeff once and for all, he would side with them. It couldn't turn out worse than it was anyways. Slavery in pain and shame or death and peace. Not a hard choice to make anymore these days.

Grandma Ruth shuffled into the living area, her lurid purple tracksuit making her a living eyesore that defied all logic as much as all good taste. Even in the gym that thing would have been on the far side of ugly! The woman had eaten her meager dinner and gone to lie down for a nap in preparation for Alan's return. She had her purse with her, which was strange as she never carried it around the island, even when she went out for a walk in nature around the estate.

Once seated, the old woman opened the handbag and began rifling through while mumbling to herself "Five big wooden spoons to smack some sense into them. Five bars of soap to clean out their damned filthy tongues if they swear again. One good thick razor strap from my poor late Grant when he was alive in case the spoons aren't impressive enough anymore. One electric zapper; that'll enlighten them to who's in charge! Good! Good! I have enough munitions to _win the war_ against all those blasted indocile, rebellious hooligans all at once! They won't ever see ME being weak handed like Jefferson, no they won't!"

As the semi-senile old woman was settling herself happily in her cushy armchair, intent on her own power and authority, she never saw the concerned look from her son or the hate-filled glares of her grandsons. It would not end well for her tonight, everybody but her knew that now.

Kyrano and Onaha Bellegant came into the living room and tried to offer refreshments to the people assembled while ignoring Ruth out of long practice. If the woman wanted something, she commanded it; otherwise she got tetchy if they offered anything as she saw it as them trying to imply she was invalid and incapable of living by herself anymore.

Everybody refused further food or drink as they pretty much all had digestion troubles since it wasn't a secret anymore that Alan was coming into a war zone and he was aware of it too. His message via Penny had been seen and repeated at the dinner table in such way that even the Bellegants and Hiram knew. The tempest of rage from Ruth had almost derailed dinner, not that anybody ate much and John had wisely decided to come down from space after the meal was over to avoid the rush and tumble of a Tracy meal given the circumstances.

Everyone felt as if they were standing on the edge of a pit trap lined with poisoned spikes except Ruth who was now drooling, her eyes glassy as she reminisced her past with her husband and four living sons inside her head. At least she wasn't disturbing people anymore after her disgusting display of familial violence with her damned purse full of weapons to hit her grandsons with.

Virgil allowed himself a nasty smile of satisfaction at work well done. The pills he had dissolved in Ruth glass of mineral water that she kept on her nightstand had finally begun kicking in. It may take about two hours more to finish taking effect but she would be deader than a doornail before the moon completed its rise over the horizon. Finally, the boys would have a measure of safety and dignity back in their lives. Then Jefferson would need dealing with. The Bellegants could disappear into the night; he didn't give a damn about the two cowards who never once helped the kids against the rabid parent.

Scott glared at his drooling grand-mother then at the immobile third-born son and raised an interrogative eyebrow. Virgil had been dubbed the ' _smother-hen_ ' of the brothers for a reason, even before dad shoved medical training down his throat with a phone pole. Virg ALWAYS had a sixth ( _and seventh_ ) sense about people's health and welfare and usually jumped right in when he suspected some ailment or injury, especially in the family.

The oldest Tracy son gave his grandma a second more thorough look-over and then glanced back at Virgil who seemed far too happy suddenly for what a young man with damaged _glutes_ and lessened leg mobility should really look and act as. Following a feel from their often miraculous _brother-link_ , Scott kept silently inside himself the snort of surprise and respect he felt for his younger sibling. The little ( _Snort!_ ) rascal had drugged-up granny so she wouldn't make a mess of the Sprout's homecoming. Nice!

If Jefferson had any inkling of his mother's state of health, he didn't give any indication. Probably because like Scott he thought it was just temporary. He'd find out otherwise soon enough.

From out of the open terrace doors came suddenly a loud whooshing noise indicative of a propeller driven aircraft coming in for a landing at their remote island property. The vehicle passed in view of the villa on its way to the lower landing strip but there was no way that thing would be able to use the publicly visible hangars. Even using Thunderbird 2's berth inside the mountain would probably be too tight a fit, even if they could fold the many rotors and flex-in or pivot backwards the engine struts.

Passing overhead was an obviously unique aircraft that would not be out of its place in a fantasy or steampunk novel: an airboat. The main hull was a good 50 feet wide by 300 feet long with 8 massive rotors set away from the main body on the end of structural struts, four on each side, along 2 drive propellers at the back of the ship. It was obvious by the large gears and pistons visible that each of the 10 engines could be oriented as needed to control the flight and hovering of the ship.

The hull was also very clearly shaped to rest the ship on water or dry land as it had a wide flat bottom. The bow was wide and had reinforced lines of girders and bolts that told everyone in the room that the front part could lower down as a loading ramp. As the ship passed by, they saw smaller sets of doors in the belly and stern of the hull. As it came down to the tree tops, the humans could now see the small rounded shapes above the rotors and below the engine blocks as well as the two squarish shapes over-extending from both bow and stern on the main deck.

Weapon turrets. The airboat was armed with encapsulated, armored turrets.

War had come to Tracy Island at long last, despite the efforts of the brothers, Tanusha, Hiram and Fermat to keep themselves quiet, peaceful and helpful towards humanity. It hadn't been enough. Not with Jefferson, Ruth and others working so determinately at hurting and dominating others.

 **Somebody took offense. They were coming for payment in blood.**

Scott stood from his sofa and called out to the air "island overwatch: all-around detection activated! Give me visuals on the lower airstrip! I want thermal scans activated now!" The young man ignored the now active holo-imager next to him as he turned towards his brother John to ask "Can you get on the comms and find out who this is and what they want? It was too dark outside to spot a logo or markings on that hull but I bet somebody has to have seen that thing at some point before. There has to be data-tracks in the web somewhere. Find me something to work with John!"

 _Ping!_ "Attention! This is island overwatch!" the central artificial intelligence tasked with managing and protecting the property called out. "Alan Tracy has been detected! Locality: lower airstrip, near far end of runway. Status: motorized mobility in progress. Multiple humanoids detected. Multiple ground vehicles detected."

There was a warbled noise coming from the speakers in the ceiling then static followed two seconds later by silence. The AI had been hacked and taken offline by hostile means. Jefferson tried to give the reboot command, to enter his override code, but nothing worked. In despair, he pulled out of his pocket a small communicator into which he input a secret code and waited worriedly for a result. Nothing.

"Sons, Penny, everyone... My master reboot order for the secondary generator and servers on Matteo Island have failed. The portable WASP protocol trigger is inert and doesn't respond to anything. At this point, I can only conclude that we have been betrayed and are utterly defenseless."

As the older male spoke, the noise of ground vehicles, military multi-wheel transports, was heard to come nearer the house from the side of the formal service driveway and guest welcome area that was situated near the wide principal terrace under which was located T1's launch pad. The first transport rolled destructively through the privacy hedge surrounding the terrace and drove around the olympic-sized pool's far side to assume guard faction near the drop down the cliff face. The second transport rolled in to place itself parallel to the villa's patio doors, tactically blocking the largest exit from the house while keeping the inside of the conveyance hard to target with weapons or sensors. Two more eight-wheelers could be heard parking themselves in the guest area besides the terrace, just out of view.

The troop carrier's two roof mounted turrets pivoted towards the inside of the villa, aiming 25mm machine guns into the living room with clear firing lines all the way to the rear of the ground floor, to the kitchen and dining area. The office, normal gym and bedrooms were along an axe on the right-hand of the house that made them hard to access with a ground vehicle bigger than a motorcycle since their shared terrace was shaped long but thin.

The truck before the patio doors stayed firmly closed but the noise of footsteps, heavy boots on concrete, echoed dully in the now silent night air, indicating many people walking towards the house.

Three forms dressed in black and gray leather with very different costumes appeared, followed by four men dressed in more conventional black combat fatigues.

The most unusual of the three leaders was built bigger than Virgil, with clothing that left his shoulders and arms bare to show off his impressive musculature and tattoos. His brown hair was also styled in a way similar to the Tracy's third son in a short crest at the front of his head. Most of his face was covered by an air filtration mask with round transparent goggles that seemed to actually enhance his brown round eyes. The weird camisole / tabard thingie - or was it half-skirt? - let show his strongly muscled legs from the heavily booted feet up to his hips. The harness of straps around his tall frame held hundreds of tools and mechanical or electronics parts ready to use.

The second leader was almost conventional except she was female and wore what could only be described as a military-grade reinforced flight suit which hugged her body quite flatteringly while also keeping the thermoplastics armor plates, sensors, comms and combat harness straps in their proper arrangement for immediate use in a fight. The woman wore a full-head helmet with opaque faceplate, all dull black with ash-gray details like the rest of her suit. She had easily recognizable Beretta pistols on each hip and smaller Walther drop-pieces on the outer ankles in sheaths molded directly from the boots themselves. Her entire presentation screamed 'lethality' and she was clearly ready for a bad fight.

The third leader was somewhat far less imposing and visually striking than the others but seemed to exude malice and barely restrained viciousness that struck pain in the hearts of the Tracy household's residents. Probably because this one was barefaced, letting the world see who it was that brought bloodshed and fire to their doorstep in the dead of night.

Dressed all in black and ash-gray as his escorts, he had heavy boots, cargo pants, a button down shirt with two pockets on the chest and two more at the lower hem. He wore an extensive set of thermoplastics armor plates, combat harness and integrated sensors & comms to form a flexible, easy to use or remove array of protections and command tools. There was an odd bulky collar with a bulbous protuberance in the front encircling the person's neck that emitted an odd whispering noise that never stopped. The full-head helmet however was what drew all the attention. It was big, thickly padded and fronted by a transparent faceplate lined with soft LED's that showed clearly who the true leader of these troopers assaulting the island was.

Alan Sheppard Evans Tracy had come home tonight, and he was not happy.

 **Sic Semper Tyrannis, father mine**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – conflict theme)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 21:00pm**

 **Tracy Island**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

The mechanically enhanced voice of the 14, almost 15, years old adolescent resounded hollowly throughout the ground floor of the house, picked up by the villa's comms and spread around by the ceiling mounted speakers of the public address system.

"Hello daddy dearest. Missed me?" the teenager asked with enough venomous sarcasm dripping from his words to warrant a HAZMAT response with Thunderbird 2's foam-sprayer pods.

"It seems that my homecoming was delayed rather abruptly when another health issue arose this morning just before I left Wharton. No worries, though!" He tapped the heavy armored collar at his throat "I have everything well in hand, after all."

As Alan glared most balefully at his father across the distance of the living room's sunken area, the masked woman turned to her bare-armed male companion and spoke through the vocalizer in her helmet. "Mechanic! Use the activator codes you received and go down the elevator to the underground hangars. We want the green cargo hauler and a module full of tools and parts in the air in 15 minutes tops! The gear-up sequence has already been initiated, you just have to finish the pre-flight list and launch out. Don't bother with the inclining ramp, just use the VTOL drives on the Bird to get out of here! Execute!"

Quite a few people were badly surprised about the turn of events and just how far Alan's betrayal went but a few others, namely Hiram, Virgil and Scott could say they had seen something like this coming from five months away, if not from earlier than that. All three believed that Jefferson was finally getting the shaft up his ass that he had deserved for so long.

He would not try to murder his son anymore, not with his personal power and International Rescue's influence reduced to slag publicly like this. And Alan seemed to have garnered some allies along the way. One was called 'Mechanic'; not innovative for a name but the guy at least looked like a mercenary and must have a head too, if Alan thought the guy could fly T2 on his own. The woman gave them a chill down their spines but strangely enough they didn't feel threatened. Why?

The answer came simply when the woman put her hands to her head to unlock and remove her helmet. Out of it came a long tail of black hair followed by golden eyes and a nasty superior smirk that they all knew so well but had never been turned against them. Tanusha Bellegant.

"Well, now that we are all assembled, we can get this little homecoming to its conclusion. I do have a rather pressing appointment later on tonight and I don't want my partner to think me unreliable. It was hard enough to convince him I was trustworthy despite my age and my most unfortunate heritage as a Tracy from Jefferson's bloodline that I really don't want to give the old crud anymore ammunition to use against me."

Seeing no real activity or sign of combative reaction from his erstwhile family, Alan frowned. What the fuck were these lackwits playing at? Normally, the _Tracy temper_ they all had took about 1% of what he'd done to trigger a fight response. Why exactly were they all sitting, or standing, like he was bringing home a basket of candies and DVD's for family movie night?

Changing tactic, the young man gestured with his left hand to his female friend "Tanu, dearest, could you please?" as his eyes continuously scanned the living room and areas for the armed response he knew was forthcoming soon.

Tanusha 'Kayo' Bellegant granted her boyfriend a gentle smile that she quickly replaced by an angry, vengeful glare full of hellfire and brimstone as she locked eyes with each Tracy male in succession from Gordon up by age to Jefferson. She spared no attention to Ruth as she surmised somebody had finally gotten tired of the old biddy and done them the favor of doping her into next week. Practical and well timed, for something none of them planned ahead.

The 19 year old girl called out to Hiram 'Brains' Hackenbacker t the back of the living room, near the low flat wall that separated the kitchen from the rest while also serving as a wide bench. "Hello, Brains! Glad to see you again! Fermi's aboard the Pack Mule, doing overwatch on our gathering so nothing untoward happens to us during our little excursion amongst the wild beasts. She's moored on the far side of Matteo Island, under optical camouflage. If you take one of the hover sleds you can reach it easy-peasy. Tell our little brother we'll see him later for a night cap."

Hiram gave the gathering a long thoughtful gaze before nodding slowly his head, coming to a decision that he had been mulling for many years already. He was ashamed he had taken so much time to do it, but he was not a courageous man by nature, just a hardened survivor who knew which buttons to push to keep Jeff on his side of the fences that Hiram himself had set. Now it was time to move the fences again and show the brutal bastard that he impressed no one but himself, as Brains had told him so long ago but had never had the guts to enforce.

Hopefully, the surviving Tracy brothers would find enough mercy in their hearts tomorrow morning to forgive his weakness and maintain a semblance of relationship with him and Fermat. If Jefferson hadn't threatened his precious son so often, Hiram would have reacted long ago and much more decisively. But having seen how he treated his own sons, how he almost killed John and then Virgil and Alan afterward... No, he had not thought it possible to really challenge such a rich, powerful and well connected individual and manage to escape with his genuine freedom.

But if Jefferson were dead... And if it were made to look like a tech theft gone horribly wrong...

Brains nodded towards Alan and Tanusha giving them both one of the real shy smiles he kept for just Fermat and them before silently turning on his heels and making his way down to the lab to pack his necessities for departure. He was willing to bet the island would burn when they left, and found he was okay with that concept.

This poisonous diseased life should be purged so it didn't follow them into the future.

"Well dad, that's what...? Three employees of yours that changed allegiances towards me. Not much of a people manager, are you? I guess you should have beaten or drugged them like you did us boys in our childhoods. You would have gotten better results." Alan rasped out caustically at his parent, ending with a low cough that stuck in his throat, making him wheeze for a minute.

Virgil painfully moved from his seated position so he could check on his kid brother, making slow patient gestures so the guys in the gun truck would not think him a threat to their boss. At this point, the third-born son didn't think anybody had any dumb ideas about who was paying and controlling these guys anymore. How exactly had the kid gotten the money for multiple capital ships and mercenaries? And who was that secret other backer he talked about having?

"Eh, Sprout. What's up with your throat? You need a honey lozenge or something?" asked the athletic young adult just in time to be interrupted by the characteristic sound blasts of T2's VTOL engines going off and taking his big green friend out into the night sky, away from him for good.

Alan speared his oversized sibling with a nasty stare before barking out "Why don't you ask the defective fucktard who gave me the condition five months ago? You know, at that time when you were standing useless with your hands down your pants, dicking around with your empty head up your ass? I'm sure the hospital in Boston sent him medical records along with the bills and insurance forms for last week's relapse by now! Let him tell you all what his great unimpeachable sense of God-blessed justice has wrought on me!"

Everybody except the drooling moaning Ruth turned towards Jefferson who was now understanding just how bad the situation was. He had been trying to use a small emergency emitter hidden as a button in the cuff of his shirt sleeve but the GDF had not sent back the signal that would make it vibrate to indicate reception of message or the arrival of support forces. He stood isolated and alone, even when surrounded by people of his own family and employment. What could he do anymore?

 **The greatest sin possible against a child**

 _(Two Steps from Hell - Never Back Down)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 21:27pm**

 **Tracy Island**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

Since the older Tracy male was keeping mum, the brothers exchanged stares and began walking slowly to stand clustered together on the same side of the living room's upper ring, near John and the patio doors close to the mountain rocks, away from Alan and Tanusha to avoid crowding them. Tin-Tin followed them, curiosity in her golden eyes but no hatred or despise. Alan also glanced sideways at the moving siblings with far less contempt or wrath than any expected at this point.

Once the four brothers stood closely, Alan raised both arms towards Jefferson and made a two-handed 'gimmee' gesture to incite him to speak his version of events. The besieged father kept quiet again, despite the forceful gazes from his other children having joined that of the youngest and Kayo.

Chocking out an almost bull-like huff of indignation, Alan shook his helmeted head in a contemptuous display of his opinion for his last living parent's lack of gumption about fess'ing up to his own misdeeds when the ham-fisted bastard had spent three decades beating into his sons the penultimate importance of honesty and taking responsibility for ones' actions. It was apparently another piece of bitchcrap he'd been peddling just to usurp control over them. Another dirty little " _Do as I say, not as I do or else your hide will suffer for it!_ " like most everything that came out of Grant and Ruth's mouths all the time they had been alive.

Knowing full well what kind of power-mad control-freak his father was, Alan actually surprised himself in a bad way at discovering that he still harbored a few bits of forlorn hope hidden in the depths of his heart. After all he lived and learned, HOW could he still believe that his old man hadn't been a lying scum-spawn on top of being a violent child-beating, son-enslaving exploiter? He had the proofs of his limitless lies and perfidies for almost a decade now, why did he still fall in the clearly marked trap of trusting or hoping anything from this wastrel of a mentally defective bum?

"Fine then, dad! I'll tell them all what happened!" Gesticulating wildly with both arms around himself, Alan turned his head to and fro to make eye contact at least once and spot the emplacements of possible threats. His siblings were all classed as neutral as was Penelope but Jeff, Kyrano and Onaha were definitely hostiles. Thankfully, they had clustered around Jefferson's desk so the three could easily be in the field of vision. Ruth was now emitting bloody froth from the mouth along the drool and the right nasty, self satisfied smirk on Virgil's face meant Alan had a good idea of who drugged her. He didn't know the actual severity but he took a wild guess it was full-out poisoning and the goal was to finally silence the rabid bint once and for all.

Feeling a sense of brotherly support he hadn't in ages, Alan began typing commands into the comms built into his combat gauntlet, a design somewhat similar to those worn by his brothers when out on rescues for IR. Well, Brains did good work; why look elsewhere?

 _(_ _Voltaire - The Straight Razor Cabaret_ _)_

"Here we are!" the young teenager exclaimed as he pointed at the massive holo console in the room's lower area. "This was my medical exam at the beginning of the school year in last September of 2059. This was after dad's savage attack on me in January 2060 at the McVeigh fire. Do any of you note any differences? Well then, here is my other medical scan from 9 days ago when I was rushed to Boston from a massive life-threatening relapse of January's injuries that had not been completely healed. I got an infection and needed surgery again to survive. Here is the result for you all to see."

Jefferson couldn't help but lean forward over his desk to get a better look and then pulled back in instinctive horror, a movement imitated barely a second later by a distraught Virgil who dropped to his knees in slow motion and began to weep all the tears he had left in his weak, injured body.

 **Alan's throat was destroyed.**

The injuries from January had been repaired mostly well but the boy got an infection: a streptococcus bacterium. An ordinary event in the life of teens who caught this infection around cold climates about once or twice a year and was commonly lumped together with a bevy of other ailments under the appellation 'flu' or 'influenza' even if it wasn't remotely connected. The symptoms of sore throat and runny nose were close enough, and 99% of the population didn't want the details, just be told which pills to swallow and how much bed rest was needed.

Except in this case, pills, bed rest and chicken soup wasn't enough anymore. Alan's throat had surgical incisions on both sides, going deeply into the larynx, voice box and trachea. He was lucky his Adam's apple had been salvageable after the **violently traumatic attempt at murdering him their father had inflicted on him**. The problem was that Alan should have been forced to heal in a clinical setting with climate control as rigorous as Thunderbird 5's habitat ring or Thunderbird 2's specialized HAZMAT recovery and quarantine module. He should have been kept in warm, chemically pure, slowly circulated air for at least a whole month with injuries and surgeries like that.

What the fuck had their debased fool of a father been thinking about? Why had he shipped him to a boarding school located in a rural forest setting in the middle of winter snow storms? And that right out of hospital with his neck and throat in this condition? Who the Hells counseled him this?

"Alan... Allie-Gator... I'm so sorry little Sprout! I swear I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you! I promise!" Virgil exclaimed through sobs so strong they wracked his entire body, making the pain from his previous injuries look nice and comfy by comparison. And Virgil, wrapping his arms around his torso in a self-hug of guilty despair, welcomed that pain; both the old and the new. He deserved pain and misery for having let their father convince them to go around the McVeigh campus bull-rushing into things they knew nothing about and then standing idly while Jeff tried to murder the little Sprout.

He was guilty and deserved to suffer for the rest of his life. So did Scott. But above all else, it was their cowardly, reality-denying whore-spawn of a parent that deserved pain and would be brought to suffer this night. If only he could get his damned legs to work again... Virgil was so _out of it_ by now that he wasn't sure his body had any reserves of strength or endurance to give anymore.

John was possibly the second most medically knowledgeable of the siblings so he could aptly triage the severity of calls he received daily. He finished his read of the reports mere seconds after Virgil then he exclaimed horrified "He's mute, Scott! Our little Sprout is mute for the rest of his life! The hospital was forced to take out his vocal chords and rebuild his larynx so he could... live...!"

With shaking hands, fighting the full-body spasm of disbelief that passed through every fiber of him, the astronaut pointed in the holographic version of their baby brother's neck. "To keep him able to breathe without machine assistance and eat solid food by his mouth, the cost was that they had to remove the infected organs before they became gangrenous. By the medical scripts, the voice box was already septic and inflamed beyond recovery, swollen so bad they initially thought he had an allergic reaction or food poisoning with acute localized symptoms. Then they did four emergency interventions to sculpt him a new trachea and all he needed to swallow and not choke... My God how is he standing up on his own today? Alan! Why aren't you in a hospital bed?"

Gordon who had kept quiet till then whispered into the sickly silence that followed John's proclamation "They stole our Allie's voice to keep him alive... Couldn't they do anything else? Were freaking bloody billionaires for Christ's sake! We could pay anything for surgery and recovery! Look what was done when he was in a coma eleven years ago! Or my back when I was 16 years old! Why? Why couldn't they do anything else?"

The youngest of the adult siblings collapsed bonelessly on the hard wood floor next to his weeping big brother and leaned on him, his own tears flowing unnoticed as he locked down into a loop of disbelief, his mind subconsciously removing him from the reality that he wasn't emotionally equipped to deal with anymore. It would take two hours for Gordon to become sensate or cognizant again. The world would be much different by then.

Scott was dry-eyed but shaking all over. What he felt must be akin to what they described in the Bible when they spoke of ' _Righteous Wrath_ ' that was so pure and potent it could only be invoked at the sight of an Innocent being victimized by the crassest and basest form of inhumanity the Earth held.

"You are not my father. You are not our father to any of us any longer. By the memory of our mother who was good and decent, I cast you from our blood and souls! Go and suffer amongst the beasts of your kind, animal!" The 25 year old screamed suddenly, all the betrayals he had endured and tolerated coming to naught. He had allowed Jefferson to torment and demean him in the hopes that the younger boys would be spared but that faint hope never materialized. Like any bully or predator, Jeff had smelled weakness and pounced with all he could to break them and dominate them irrevocably.

In gamer speak, he ' _pwned_ ' them like little pain bitches and they were too dumb to notice.

Scott took a careful, measured step towards the rim of the upper ring, stopping at the first step down to the recessed floor. Pointing at the medical holo reports, he asked the damning question that Jefferson didn't want to be heard, let alone be answered in a public forum like this.

"What did you do? Why did you let them butcher him so? Why did you FORCE him to move all the way to MASSACHUSETTS in the depths of winter when he was hurt like this? Didn't you realize what would happen to his throat? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Faced with a quiet father, holding stubbornly to his silence, the eldest Tracy didn't know what to do anymore. When faced with this abomination, what could he do? What could they?

John however had another aspersion of condemnation to send his parent's way. "Mother..." he swallowed dryly passed his own constricting throat, imagining what Alan was now enduring, and would suffer the rest of his life probably. "Mother taught us when we were young that the three greatest unforgivable sins that could be committed against a child was to **1)** destroy his innocence thus making him morally broken; **2)** destroy his curiosity thus making him a closed-minded ignorant; and **3)** destroy his voice, the gift that God gave children to express their innocence so we could admire it and be guided by it ourselves. You have SINNED all three sins at the same time! Scott is right! You aren't our family anymore! I quit IR and I quit the Tracy clan! I will call myself Evans but yours no more! Go burn in your Hell, demon, and bring your cold-cunted slag of a mother who taught you to be this way with you!"

Jefferson wasn't about to let that one pass; only HE, the almighty authority, could possibly decide who was and wasn't a Tracy anymore, not an ill-bred, ill-mannered, child who spoke out of his turn like that! "How dare you, John Glenn Tracy! I gave you life! I made you! I trained you to your potential and this is your thankfulness? It's now obvious you spend too much time in space away from my _Rod of Discipline_ if this is the way you turn out after a few months alone! I'll light up your ass, boy, and make sure you don't sit a good long month! You are a BOY, not a man! Never a man! Not until I say so, do you hear this?"

Jeff was frothing at the mouth in rage like a dog in the last stages of rabies. He yanked open the middle drawer of his desk and pulled out his two trusted items of power that never failed before: the Bible of his great-great-great-grand-father and one of the massive five-pound oak wood paddles he had spread around at all the places he took the boys for family occasions, schooling, work or social events. It was clearly spoken in Scriptures that the Rod of Discipline must NEVER be far from the body of the child lest he be tempted to stray out of the adult's control.

THAT was a mistake he made with John that would be corrected promptly, at the same time as the boy himself was corrected with the appropriate methodology for infants that think they are better than their station in life. And if he had to strike him in the shoulders or head a few times to pacify him to submissiveness again, then so much the better! More injuries to recover from meant a more docile boy being obedient for longer so it was all good for him, Jeff, if the lanky runt tried to resist.

Scott had enough of this fuckshit. Seeing his dad take out his ever-present instruments of pain, he had a flash of insight as the man gesticulated like a scarecrow stuck in a hurricane. The man was stark raving mad. He either was crazier than batshit or he was a damned pervert who enjoyed using that wooden replacement cock on his boys because it was the only way he could actually get a hard-on anymore.

Now enlightened as to a big part of his depraved parent's actual thinking processes, the young adult put his right hand at the small of his back under his loosely worn button-down shirt and pulled out the Beretta 9mm that had served him so well during his 3 years in the US Air Force. He watched silently as the elder male stalked around the desk, waving his _Book of Lies_ and his wooden tool of torture around as if the world would stop turning on its axis in respect for his power. Scott was amazed that he had never seen the truth about his dad's insanity before. It also explained his grand-father, grand-mother and the three uncles he had never known in person.

Putting up the pistol, Scott ignored the Bellegant's behind Jefferson as they were meaningless, as they always had been as long as he had known them. He thumb-flicked the safety off and lit up the red pointing laser beam that emitted from just under the muzzle of the barrel. As he saw the deranged adult trampling his way towards a solidly immobile John who glared back at Jeff's rampage with openly declared contempt, the oldest sibling redirected his target.

Fifteen quickly fired, tightly grouped shots rang out as the damaged, depressive and morally outraged ex-soldier emptied out the magazine in one continuous salvo of 9mm ' _eagle talon_ ' armor piercing rounds.

Right at Jefferson.

 **Right at Jefferson's crotch, unmanning him for ever.**

Mutilated. Something vital to his personality removed harshly and unnecessarily.

Just like the felonious father had done to Alan in a transparent effort to see the poor little boy silenced so he didn't testify in a DCFS court against his father in a public attempt to get free from his dangerous sect and cruel tyranny.

Scott let go of the empty pistol, dropping it to the floor; it was no longer needed. He could move to help his brothers and let Nature have its course with the Blood-Traitor. He'd wasted enough of his life on the wrong people already; time to put on his adult suspenders and act like he was 25 years old, not 12, for a change.

Jeff dropped to the floor, bloodied and unmoving, suffering so much pain he could only blink his eyes reflexively while emitting a low, continuous moan of disbelieving, agonizing horror.

 **He wasn't a man anymore.**

Right before his sons, his mother, his occasional paramour, and the hired help and the mercenaries and the whole world at large if Fermat Hackenbacker was really doing overwatch out of a capital ship beyond Matteo Island as advertised.

The great, mighty, heroic, God-Empowered conqueror of the Moon and Mars, the Hero of America's last three generations and the next three to come, was fallen in body and soul for All to Witness.


	3. Chapter 3

The author wishes to express thanks to anyone who may read his story and encourages them to leave reviews, comments or even flame it hard. As with any who try their hand at publicly expressing an idea or story concept, all feedback is important and welcome.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Thunderbirds, nor any other sci-fi or fantasy series, movies, comics, cartoons or news items used in this fiction as they belong to the creators or broadcasters or publishers who put them out for consumption by the public.

 **WARNING** ; the language level of this one is not too particularly trashy when we consider a story based on ex-cons, ex-military men, high risk situations and rescue specialists dealing with everybody's crap and messes on top of their own. Also, it was series canon that the entire Tracy household swore like drunken sailors on an hourly basis. They cleaned up the language a whole lot more than spic-&-span in the 2004 movie and 2015 series. Remember the internal joke that the " **all clear** " call phrase " **FAB** " actually spells out " **Fuck It All, Boys!** " because of how often Jefferson was absolutely livid with rage at all five sons at the same time. It was transformed as a familial joke to tell each other that if Dad was able to get angry to scold or punish, then they were all healthy and doing fine at whatever was happening as Jeff had always told them " _Rescue first, heal second then order the House after everything else is done and packed away._ "

 **However** , as I always warn people who read my work: this language was pretty much normal in the school yard 30 years ago when I was a teenager. So, how can you have such a thin skin and be part of the same culture on the same continent if this is really that offensive to you? Where did you spend the last few decades, if you can't take a few hard words from the mouths of kids when these words have been around since before World War I?

 **Thunderbirds**

 **LOST VOICE chapter 3**

 **In the loving arms of siblings**

 _(Frederic Chopin – Funeral march)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 23:42pm**

 **Tracy Island; first basement, family infirmary**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

The Tracy Family's infirmary was located in the first basement of the villa and was not hidden or out of bounds to anyone as it was in fact a necessity of all inhabitants to know where the medical assistance was located on the compound.

It had been conceived by Brains not only for efficiency but comfort and moral support too. After all, he would be the primary medic and all chances were that he would end up being a patient as would his son and the kids he had come to care for as if they were his own boys.

The lights were glowing a soft milky white, dampened by frosted glass shades to protect the eyes of the patients under care in the room. The walls were thick concrete with steel plating and thick foam insulation inside to cut off both sound and physical vibrations to guarantee the quietest, most stable situation during a surgery or convalescence. The cabinets were all titanium steel alloy with front panels made of synthetic crystal to allow the users to see the contents quickly without having to open each and every one thus losing precious time.

The best feature of the infirmary thought was that Hiram had set it up like a small public clinic with a reception desk where all patient files were kept and a large square arrangement of a dozen sofas, two massive five-seat couches and two coffee tables for the family to wait while the persons were being treated. The setup was completed by the full coffee-bar service counter and six wet bath / toilet stalls to allow people to clean up while they waited for their own turn at healing services or got sick from seeing gruesome injuries.

Passed the waiting area, the clinic feel was maintained as Hiram had placed 12 beds in two rows of six with an aisle in the middle thus facilitating the movements of gurneys, beds and equipments to and from the actual surgical room at the very back of installation. The dorm had four wide enclosed bathrooms, each designed to allow a life-support wheel chair and two helpers inside with enough space for easy movements around all the facilities.

The supply closets were spread in two banks; one set between the waiting area and beds served as the basic supplies / pharmacy laboratory. The second bank was between the dormitory and surgical room to house all the heavy mobile machines like the x-ray & other scanners; it also contained all the beddings, linens and cleaning supplies for the med-bay.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

It was in this clean, soft sky-blue colored dormitory that Gordon awoke. He knew the room intimately well as he had been here quite a few times since it had become reality under the attentive care of Hiram and his construction bots. Most of the recovery for the back injuries from the WASP hydrofoil accident had been done at home and most treatments were done in here. Dad had wanted an infirmary but his initial design had been about the same as the places most secondary boarding schools had on campus; that is to say not much at all. Brains had scuppered that line of thought and trawled the web for medical catalogues and hospital designs, gotten ideas and done another one of his homemade miracles.

" _Yeah for uncle Hiram!... I think..._ " the teenaged adult thought in melancholy.

Gordon took hold of his head with both hands as a killer headache crashed through his skull, giving him an actual bout of vertigo. Looking around, he saw the wheeled service table next to his bed was in easy reach and had been prepared as always with a wide metal bowl and box of tissues in case of nausea. Closing his eyes again as they hurt a lot, he made an effort to sit himself silently. Gords finally managed to sit upright and bring the table in place across his lap, elevated at about mid-chest so he could place his arms on its surface and rest his aching head on them.

 _(Two Steps From Hell – Never Back Down)_

Some soft noise came near his bed; footsteps that were not heavy combat boots or the rubber soles of the sneakers the Tracy's usually wore around the island. Gordon was slowly beginning to remember the airboat, the troop trucks, the mercenaries and his little baby brother all gussied up like a villainous overlord in a sci-fi movie. He wanted to die. No, worse; he wanted to crawl like a worm into a small miserable hole so he could curl into a ball and die alone the miserable death he deserved for allowing their bastard father to inflict this butchery on their poor little Allie-Gator.

A gentle hand carded through his hair in the way he liked so much, especially when his back was acting up so bad that he wound up in this very room to get an injection of muscle relaxants and a spread of anti-arthritis cream along his spine. The gentle hand was joined by its mate when a cold compress was pressed to his face, just over his closed, aching eyes.

"It's alright Gordy, let it out, let the tears fall, I won't laugh or scorn you for being weak. After the years you endured here, you are obviously a lot of things but not weak." spoke the soft caring voice of his sister in all but blood. Tanusha's second hand moved from his hair to his nape and squeezed softly, giving him support, affection and love that he desperately needed right now.

Forcing his eyes to open, Gordon turned his head towards the young woman, looking at her with new eyes. She still wore the black and grey flight suit thingy that fit her so nicely but had taken off the helmet, gloves and boots. She now walked around in the soft canvas sneakers she preferred and the suit's front was unzipped all the way to the waist, showing off the thin green T-shirt she wore under. He noticed absentmindedly that she had removed her weapons as the harness and belt were no longer on her body. Her face looked like her 19 years again, softer and freer than she had seemed when she had revealed herself in the living room.

Lifting his left hand to give her own wrist a weak squeeze, Gordon nodded very slowly his thanks for her kindness and help in his time of illness. The young man could guess he had suffered a sort of mental breakdown; about the fourth or fifth since January and the fire.

"Rest at peace, brother mine." Kayo spoke in her soft encouraging tone. "Alan is well, given the circumstances. He's moving about the island guiding our men in gathering what we came for. Scott and Virgil are both soundly asleep in beds next to you without any drugs, just exhaustion. John was escorted to the main kitchen by a pair of our guys. He wasn't really hungry yet but decided to make a few things and fill up the infirmary's service counter so you could all sit together and fill up a bit before you start hashing out the details about the rest of your lives."

The adolescent blinked slowly, even the weak pale light of the infirmary on its night setting making the pressure behind his orbs pulsate painfully. His distress must have been more obvious than he thought as Tanusha left his bedside for a few minutes before she came back with a small tray holding two vials and syringes along with antiseptic wipes, a rubber tourniquet and a paper wristband from the printer on the reception desk. The thin paper strip was imprinted with a barcode linked to his digital patient file and also had informations on the most recent or potent medications he had been given. Under normal circumstances, Hiram and Virgil printed those out only when they expected a patient to stay more than 12 hours under watch.

Kayo expertly placed the tourniquet on his left biceps, gently tapping the crook of the elbow to make the veins surface. Gordon couldn't hold back the small shy smirk at her transparent ploy. The girl had left the wristband on the tray so he could place it on himself thus occupying his hands and decoying his attention into thinking he was not actually out of commission at the moment. It also made her job of injecting him easier as they all knew from personal experience, and Virgil's often repeated lament, that rescue pros were the worse patients you could get to work on. They never stopped moving, always tried to tell you what procedure to do or how to triage the injuries they had.

Gordon grunted in amusement at the memory of Tanusha once threatening to make a canister of aerosol sedative part of the mandatory gear so she could put to sleep any Search & Rescue pros she had to help out of a bind. She was particularly adamant that this be the preferred method for dealing with the Tracy men. " _Snort! I wonder where she got that from? Eh, eh, eh!_ " Gordy thought inside himself as the second injection went into his arm.

"There you go, Gordon." Kayo explained to him. "A dose of morphine to help take the top off the physical pain from your lower limbs' injuries. The other is a dedicated anti-migraine compound our ally has developed for his own use; Alan and I have used it and it's safe and effective for most cerebral pains and aches. You should feel your thoughts and senses clearing up in about five to ten minutes. I have given some of this compound to the three others but I waited on you to wake up first to see what state you were in. Giving meds to a knocked out person is never really safe, especially since we had to strip you and do a basic diagnostic before hand."

Gordon blinked and looked down at himself; he was wearing the usual unisex blue scrubs that were the standard dress of long-term patients in the family's infirmary. This brought to mind what she had said about injuries and diagnostic. Paling then blushing, Gordon tried to look away from his spiritual sibling only for the young woman to place her hand on his neck in renewed support.

"Yes, Gords, I saw the damages he has done to all of you boys. Scott, John, Virgil and you all. Jefferson is a bastard and I will see him suffer for what he has put you five through. He almost crippled Virgil and the damage done to your legs had started spreading up your back and reacting with your old injuries. That diseased cur saw you were all falling apart and yet he kept beating you, as if you could get anything intelligent out of a person with a stick and pain. Fool! He got what he deserved when Scott emasculated him; he'll get the rest from Alan."

"What? I don't remember that! What happened?" Gordon asked in stunned surprise. He really had no recollection about anything passed the moment Jeff had taken out his stupid book of shite. The teen winced in embarrassment at the idea that Tanu had seen his bare ass and thighs, although in honesty he was more ashamed that she had seen the proof he was so weak he couldn't keep his father from beating his butt like a little child in grade school.

Then he winced again, the memories of the injuries Scott and Virgil had been cumulating in the same manner over the last five months. A quick look sideways showed him that his brothers were indeed dressed in blue scrubs like him. They had all been stripped, scanned and put up for treatment so Tanusha must have seen everything in gory detail. In a moment of gut rotting guilt, Gordon wondered if they actually deserved so much care and support after being so weak they failed not only Alan but themselves as well the way they had done.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

The uneasy silence of the dormitory was broken by the harsh noise of chocking, spitting and sobbing that emanated suddenly from the bed holding Virgil. The tall, muscular young man jack-knifed himself up to sitting position in a panic, choking on bile as he began vomiting into a metal bowl that had appeared under his face courtesy of Kayo that moved like a lightning stroke to help her injured, despairing sibling. Tanusha rubbed soothing circles on his broad back, squeezing his neck in comforting support while Gordon got out of his bed slowly to avoid face-planting himself into the white-tiled floor of the med-bay.

The former olympic swimmer moved even more slowly now that he was standing on his unsteady legs, using the other bed frames as supports to keep him up as he advanced towards his distressed biggest brother. It was not the first time Gordon had to use furniture and walls as support when walking around the house because dad or grandma had whooped his butt raw enough to keep him out of normal function for several days. To his angry shame, he realized just how ordinary, almost banal, the whole process of getting beaten then going about daily chores in damaged agonizing submissiveness to dad had become for all of them.

"No more, you defunct bastard! Not ever more! I'll kill you myself if Scooter hasn't finished the job and Jonny didn't beat me to the line!" the young adult whispered with seething anger in every word.

As he arrived at the foot of Virgil's bed, the door to the infirmary opened letting in John and two mercenaries. His older brother was pushing a wheeled service cart holding a large assortment of freshly made food, cold drinks in cans and a few packets of munchies like cookies, small cakes and a few candy bars. Bless his soul, Jonny had raided the pantry and shoved out the window all of dad's usual dietary rules and admonitions about sugar and calories.

The tall, lanky astronaut was paler than usual, almost translucent given just how bloodless his face and hands were. The thin generic blue scrubs and slippers were making such a contrast in colors with the man inside that Gordon thought his older sibling looked just as sick as he himself felt despite the meds Kayo gave him.

The second Tracy son let the two unknown men place the stuff in the coffee bar's mini fridge and warming trays while he went to the beds to check on the activity he could see and hear. What he beheld upon getting there wasn't much for setting him at ease but at least the family Squid was back among the living and mobile enough to make a nuisance of himself again. That should be good, right?

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, John ' _hemmed'_ a bit before addressing the people before him. "I saw Alan on the main floor of the house. He had been in dad's office and seemed ready to tear the old guy a few new assholes all over his body. He didn't tell me why, but I got the gist of the sentiment anyways. He did say that he was coming down here in about another half hour to either talk with us or watch over us as we sleep through it all. Tanusha, he did tell me to give you the message that Fermat and Hiram are aboard the Pack Mule safely."

Kayo gifted John with a genuine smile and nod of thanks for his message. She then pointed him at the fourth son so he could help Gords to sit on the foot of the bed near Virgil's feet. She thought that human contact would heal him better than any medication could at this time. His choking and vomiting had been induced by a bad nightmare and guilt, not an internal injury or poisoning so what he needed was brotherly warmth and support, not drugs.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Virgil chucked up a few more times, mostly dry heaves by now, and finally pulled away from the bowl of rejected bile. He had eaten almost nothing in the day except a few dry ration bars created by Brains as emergency high-nutrient intake for prolonged rescues

All the Tracy sons were young; they had begun IR training and operations while they were still growing young adults. A reliable source of food was needed but nothing on the open market was sufficient; Hiram designed a chemically balanced mixture of fruits, vegetables and meats wrapped in granola sweetened with brown sugar and glazed with honey. The taste was something to get used to but the energy boost was incredible and the dryness made them very useful for sponging off excess acid in the stomach during high-stress ops or family messes.

It was why Virgil vomited only bile; the ration bars he had munched on during the day had been digested and processed while absorbing most of the acids and liquids in the stomach, leaving only the newly made bile resulting from the day's ceaseless anxiety. Once the last psychosomatic heaves were done, he could lean backwards into his bed's soft comfortable mattress that some kind soul had raised to a lounging position for him.

Blinking the remnants of his tears out of his eyes, the family's _smother-hen_ took a minute to appreciate how good it felt to be the patient being nursed and cared for, for a change. He needed this: the calm, the rest, the absence of pain from his body.

Virg experimentally flexed his toes and fingers in synch, realizing that the sameness of feeling from all extremities meant someone had given him a good dose of clinical pain meds while he was asleep. He knew well the grave damages to his buttocks and thighs, deeply bruised to the point of having blackish and purple ecchymosis from right under the kidneys all the way to a few inches above the inside of the knees. He had been almost unable to walk around the house, he should not normally be able to move his toes without a deep ache throughout his legs unless he was drugged or three long weeks had passed without any further beatings. Given dad's mood swings, that would never have happened in this life.

Looking around the well known infirmary dorm ( _it was his second domain after T2_ ) the young male saw Tanusha standing near his left side and finally felt her hand resting on his shoulder. He became aware of Gordon sitting at the foot of the bed almost normally with a sickly-looking John standing closely besides the younger sibling, arms crossed as he chewed his lower lip in uncontrolled anxiety.

Another more general look around the dorm showed his oldest brother sound asleep in the bed on his right, dressed in the same blue scrubs that he and the other two wore. An IV drip-line was installed, the logos and indicators on the clear plastic bags telling him his elder sibling had suffered massive dehydration, malnutrition and lacked protein, vitamins and had a chronically low immune system. Frowning in disapproval, Virgil swore to himself that Scott, and John too, would get an ear full of his opinion on what exactly he thought about his brothers starving themselves to illness. Brain's ration bars existed for a reason, dammit all!

A second look around the dormitory showed him a few missing things that needed to be addressed promptly to evaluate just how much of a mess they were in. Turning to the young woman standing at his left, he took the time to gaze at her up and down before going back to her wide, expressive golden eyes that he liked so much. He saw she had disarmed and set herself to a relaxed stance. Her face expressed concern and love for her siblings, not latent anger or brewing violence.

Taking his courage with both hands, the Tracy's biggest brother asked gently "Hey Kayo. Fancy meeting you here like this... Any idea where my missing Sprout wound up? I kinda want to have a few words with him. You know, about NOT having called me for help when he got rushed to Boston for his throat... Among other things..."

Tanusha couldn't help the playful smirk from emerging on her lips as the 6 foot 2 inches, 230 pounds of solid muscles called Virgil tried to act all innocent and harmless in front of her. He really was cute like an overgrown teddy bear when he did that. All that missed was the large bow tie and little felt hat and he would look exactly like the plush bear she had as an infant! He even had the same deep brown, almost bronze colored eyes too! She couldn't help herself anymore, she giggled girlishly as she wrapped both arms around her big, gentle steady sibling to give him back all the affection and love he deserved to finally receive at long last.

Virgil exchanged amused yet perplexed looks with his two awake brothers while same-said siblings were smirking teasingly at the sight of big brawny Virg so insecure and fearful of a girl half his size and body mass. Of course, neither Gordon nor John would ever be stupid enough to openly challenge Kayo themselves either but the point was brotherly teasing, not logic or fairness.

"Can't a guy get some decent sleep around this damned can anymore? Shut ya'r traps a'fore I make yous!" came the grumpy sleepy grouse out of Scott's bed. The young adult grabbed the sheets and pulled them all the way up over his head before turning roughly onto his right side, facing away from the commotion. He resolutely willed himself back to slumber and was soon snoring softly in deep curative slumber, now aware his brothers were as safe as they could be. Dad and grandma were dealt with, Alan was grievously injured but home and mobile with Kayo and armed men as backup. The situation was hardly ideal in his book, but far better than any version where Jefferson still held the reins over them all.

For now, he could afford to sleep off the pain of his injuries and the multiples traumas to his soul from having to shoot his own dad inside his own house and a host of other stuff. Things were in good, reliable hands with Tanusha on site; Alan and Hiram could manage the rest until he woke up in a dozen hours or so. Even in his sickened, diminished state, Scott was honest enough to realize he didn't have the mental capacities or the health to endure through a long family meeting. Better they all sleep and heal a bit before plowing into that clusterfuck of a mess.

" _Thunderbirds are gone to the sandman's land..._ " he thought silently as slumber grasped him.

 **Cleansing sins by pure steel and fire**

 _(Brillig - The Hearse Song)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 23:50pm**

 **Tracy Island; mortuary room,**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

One of the least known, never spoken of features of Tracy Island was that it had its own morgue. All the regular inhabitants knew this but never discussed it aloud in fear of invoking bad luck upon their own beloved and colleagues.

The Tracy's had their own medical-grade mortuary complex to handle the deceased in all sorts of situations that might arouse from fatal accidents during the building of the entire International Rescue compound and Thunderbirds to bringing rescuees back here that died en route or in the infirmary during surgery.

The mortuary was located in a discrete sector of the IR complex on the same level as the main parking and operations floor of the Thunderbirds. It was dug directly into the mountain's rock near the massive pivoting rock-face that served as T2's hangar door towards the hidden runway on the lower portion of the island. The mortuary was accessed by a long corridor wide enough for two of IR's hover sleds to float in side-by-side. The corridor took you into the mountain's core until you were underneath the Tracy Villa and lined up with the secondary service staircase and cargo elevator that came from the Family Infirmary all the way down to here. Said corridor continued onward as it was a main artery to spread utilities pipes, wires and solid goods all around the Thunderbirds' garage without getting in the way of moving heavy machines or suffering jet blasts all the time. It also linked several of these stairs and elevators that brought you to the higher levels of the IR complex or the Tracy Villa on the cliff face.

Designed by Hiram Hackenbacker, the mortuary was not often used and it had never received any dead to date. In a clear moment of genius, Brains had copied the design and orientation of the Family Infirmary on this level thus giving the IR pilots a much closer support point to come for in case one of them was grievously injured and in immediate danger of dying. As a matter of course, any time the boys were capable of walking out of their machine or got rolled out in a wheelchair but were awake and speaking they got taken up to the real family med-bay.

Besides all the setup the normal familial medical center had, Hiram had designed and installed all the unfortunate necessities fundamental for a mortuary establishment to work properly. Up to his own standards, of course. There were morgues in the FBI and NSA compounds that were not that good.

On the same floor as the spare med-bay, right besides it in fact, was the massive robotized congelation holding room. The Freezer. The place with walls covered in crystal panel fronted freezer drawers and automated arms hanging from the ceiling to manipulate all the dead bodies into proper place or onto the robotic freezer cart that would bring them to the dedicated autopsy room or beyond, into the plasma autoclave for incineration. The room could hold up to 100 frozen bodies and could sustain them by chilling the air in the drawers, spraying the bodies in freezing fluid, flooding any or all drawers with embalming liquid then freezing them solid or it could take the bodies and spray them with liquid polymer to encase them in a plastic layer that would last about 200 years despite the rot and bacteria inside.

Passed the freezer was the autopsy theater with all its equipments and place for up to four cadavers at the same time. After the autopsy room was the armored wall and cargo airlock that led to the room with the plasma oven to incinerate all biohazard wastes from either the family's med-bay or the mortuary.

Located between the medical surgery room and the autopsy room was an enclosed self-sustained quarantine bunker for dealing with chemical, radiation and biological contaminations capable of holding twelve people alive during their isolation up to three months. It had enough internal space and robotic arms to take the corpses and pack them into thermoplastics incineration boxes foreseen for this usage before moving the bodies out via the conveyor belt in the armored airlock leading directly inside the plasma oven itself.

The Tracy family was equipped like few others, thanks to their money, high science potential and the fact that the patriarch never accepted being told ' _no_ ' or that his dreams were in ' _poor taste_ '.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

 _(Star Wars – Imperial March)_

Alan Sheppard Evans Tracy trooped into the main hangar floor space from outside the mountain. He was coming from the T2 launch strip. He had met with some of his men who were using hover sleds with floating trailers to retrieve and move out large quantities of machinery and raw resources from the dead carcass of Jefferson's sectarian pipe dream.

For many reasons, the young teenager did not feel the slightest speck of guilt at acting like a carrion eater as he pecked away relentlessly at the dregs of his father's decaying cultist utopia.

Alan marched in military steps with his hands clasped behind his back. The harsh white glare of the industrial overhead lamps reflected oddly off the matte black and ash grey of his clothing. The eerie sound of his mechanically regulated breathing echoed around the emptiness of the Thunderbirds' hangar as T1, T2 and T3 were all gone already. He stopped for a second to visually inspect the state of their progress in dismembering this abomination that took so much from his family and loved ones.

T4 was still dry-parked in its holding clamps above the oceanic access silo; it had never been seen as all that much to begin with and neither Alan nor Kayo wanted it. Their allies might want it, but if they didn't say or come for it themselves, it would stay behind and burn with the rest. Alan had plans to build for Gordon a much, much better submersible. He would no longer be obliged to spend days and weeks on end sleeping scrunched in a bucket seat wearing the same wetsuit and using a damned plastic bucket for a toilet the way their dear old dad had made him do repeatedly when he decided that the fuel expenses of recovering Gordy and giving him some time on the surface was too costly. Jeff's favorite excuse had been: " _It would be too long to accomplish and take too much time out of a critically vital mission in progress_ ".

Their father had been an insane, defective fucktard of a jerkwad for decades already. Why had nobody seen it? Why the hell had the Bellegant's or Hiram never done anything about it? That question would gnaw at his gut for many decades to come, he just knew it.

Penny was a Brit spy, her job was to 'handle' Jeff and keep her ever-precious Crown's hands on the tech and potential of Tracy Heavy Industries, then IR when that happened. Being their friend and savior had never been in the orders given by her spy-masters at MI-6. This meant that while Alan did not blame her, he most certainly did not like or care for her. She got what she deserved and would now have to report her abject failures to her boss in London. This pink-clad bitch-whore would never again have her clutches in his brothers' lives, nor his. She had no value and was done with. Period.

Alan sighed, the sound distorted by the vocalizer & breather combo around his throat. So many adults in his life and none had put on their thinking cap for even a second. Even Hiram who sheltered him and Tanusha had never been courageous enough to do something final about Jeff's depravities, despite being a genius and the overall **master of works** around the island. Nothing got designed, built or put to use unless Hiram had seen and approved it along the entire process.

The only two Thunderbirds still in the possession of IR, if one could say it that way, were T5 in stable geo-locked orbit above the villa and the brand new Thunderbird Shadow, or T-S, which had never been tested. That one had been meant for Kayo when she joined IR and had yet to even be brought out of the manufacturing hangar, located even deeper into the mountain's core.

The youngest living Tracy shook himself to get out of his despondent thought pattern and back to immediate reality. He could get maudlin with his brothers later on. Right now he had an appointment with Death that could not, and most certainly should not, be set back any longer.

Setting off towards the mortuary rooms, Alan walked anew his militaristic step, heavy boots clomping harshly on the armored concrete of the floor, echoing all around the pipe-like corridor as he progressed.

Another seven minutes of brisk-paced walk saw him arrive at the armored airlock that barred the mortuary hangar and a few more seconds had him entering the level's medical complex through the reception area. He nodded to the quad of soldiers on guard duty and continued deeper towards the surgery room and his ultimate destination.

As he walked through the dormitory he saw the very first bed held an oblong form inside a matte black zippered bag stamped with the white logo of the **Grand Gate of Beyond**. It was a body bag containing the remains of his grand-mother. She had been fatally poisoned and had rotted from the inside out in less than an hour from the time she swallowed the contaminant.

 _(_ _The Scarring Party - No More Room_ _)_

The 14 year old boy felt absolutely nothing for the degenerate old crone's passing; only satisfaction that it was done and final. That she didn't suffer or could not have been cognizant of her end as the drug shut down her mind before it began eating away at her innards was irrelevant to Alan. She was no longer able to harm his loved ones and could not push dad to be more harsh and violent towards them so the crucial part was accomplished. The who, how and actual reason why could wait or even never be told. He did not care about her anymore.

 **He hadn't cared about her since he was 9 years old when she had tried to murder him.**

Moving forward, Alan marched noisily to the surgery theater, the soft glow of the night watch lights indicating for him what he already knew. If his father could be recovered, the medic would have all the lights up to glaring levels as his team worked to salvage Jefferson. The low lighting and whispered noises of the mechanical aerator told him that his paternal tormentor was not long for this life.

 **What a relief.**

Coming to a stop near the surgical table, he took note his medic had followed protocols for mentally deranged patients: multi-point leather strap restraints with a steel chain as their core with steel buckles at each end. All this was attached to the solidly bolted main piling of the table by assorted steel padlocks that were electronically linked to the island's Overwatch AI and the remote operations management softwares aboard the Pack Mule.

Should the dying Jefferson Grant Tracy try to escape, the many safeties and redundancies would sound so many alarms that even the Australians and New Zealanders would hear about it pronto.

The medic, dressed in matte black and ash gray fatigues like the rest of their crew, stood from his silent vigil at the side table. He came next to his employer and spoke in hushed tones.

"He is sleeping and would do so even without the drugs in his system. He will not last much past the hour. If you want to say something to him, I will need to inject an adrenaline-based stimulant to wake him enough for conversation. Be advised that he will probably pass on during your interview without any warning. That he has endured this long comes more from his legendary stubbornness than any healing or care we have spent on him."

The man quieted and stood still, hand folded at his back, looking on dispassionately at the face of one of the most powerful humans he knew. The doctor wasn't foolish enough to let age and physical appearance con him into thinking this boy weak or limited like other simpletons that crowd the streets and schools around the world. Childish and simple were things one did not associate with Alan Tracy and stay healthy for long.

Eyes squinting nastily behind the transparent faceplate of his helmet, Alan ordered "Wake him."

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

 _(_ _The Dead Brothers - Death Blues_ _)_

Jefferson knew intense, unimaginable pain.

Jefferson knew shame unending, with witnesses all around to see it all.

Jefferson fell into insensate darkness and welcomed it, hoping it would never cease.

 **Beep. Beep.**

He knew that sound. He knew it all too well, having been in the rescue business for several years now. It was an electronic heart rate monitor. Like the ones in the family infirmary. He wasn't stupid enough at this point, despite all the pain and drugs, to thing somebody had put him in Thunderbird 1 and rushed him to the mainland for emergency surgery.

 **Beep. Beep.**

His senses and perceptions came back slowly, sluggishly as if he were both drunk and stone at the same time. It was not a good feeling. He could smell the antiseptic soap used in the Tracy med-bay, it's fragrance specifically chosen so that any IR operative who woke up here could know they were home and safe.

 **Beep. Beep.**

At one time, that had been true too, that the Island was both home and truly safe for its residents.

 **Beep. Beep.**

How had that changed again? Oh, yes... He had done that, hadn't he? Him and Ruth...

 **Beep.. Beep.. Beep..**

Blinking his eyes reflexively to try and flush out the salty tears that flooded out subconsciously, Jeff tried to move his head around only to find himself locked inside the most comprehensive system of soft flexible restraints that he had ever seen in his career. Given some of the cases that the GDF had obliged IR to ferry around secretly in order to not be shot down and arrested as criminals, Jeff and his boys had seen some pretty solid and complicated harnesses and bed-cages in their days.

 **Beep.. Beep.. Beep..**

A medium-sized shape appeared in his field of vision, blurry due to the tears and the too soft light in the room. Only the shape of the robotic assistance arms hanging from the ceiling confirmed for him that he was in the island's medical complex. The symbol of the Grand Gate of Beyond engraved and painted in the middle of the ceiling giving him the final clue as to where he was: the Tracy mortuary surgery room.

 **Beep... Beep... Beep...**

An inhuman hissing sound approached from his feet, the blurry shape moving forward until it was barely a foot away from his immobilized face. He could now recognize the clear-fronted helmet of his youngest son's battle dress. His rheumy eyes, tired from injury, blood loss and the emotional traumas of the day could still focus enough to see the war-harness and its weapons hung about his frame, the handles of the guns at his hips menacingly promising a violent end to this confrontation.

"Hello Jefferson Grant Hardale Tracy; welcome to the last moments of your life. My doctor tells me you have bled out and the damage is irreversible, even with the blood transfusions that were done. You have mere minutes to exist in this life. If you have anything to say... Well no, if you have anything to say, I suggest you keep it for The Reaper that dwells passed the Gate. Me and mine want no truck with you any longer."

 **Beep... Beep... Beep...**

Jeff gurgled and cleared his throat painfully, a truly straining effort that showed him Alan was right; he really didn't have much time anymore. He needed to say things though and he would. He could not let his youngest, most innocent son go into his life like this. Jeff just wished that the psychiatric treatments had been started sooner and that he could have refrained from hurting his other boys the way he did.

If he had been a caring father, maybe his children wouldn't have killed him. Maybe he would still have long years to speak his guilt and remorse with Alan instead of short meaningless minutes.

 **Beeeep... Beeeep... Beeeep...**

Gasping passed his swollen parched throat, Jefferson tried to make himself heard for one last time in this world: "I am sorry for all the sins I have done against you, my beloved son." came out the rasped, slurred words.

"I lived with problems that I was too blind, too prideful and too damned bigoted too to see and admit that I needed help. I was raised to believe that **Manly Men** solve their family problems with fists and whips or console their damaged souls with a pipe and bottle of hard gin all alone in a dark corner. Or, if they want a dry life, they just waste their time away at the office, doing 16 to 20 hours a day until they become so numb that the pain goes away."

 **Beeeep... Beeeep... Beeeep...**

Alan stood immobile, only the respirators on the wall and around his neck making any noise to compete with the heart monitor in the deathly silent room.

Jeff cried more, softly and silently, not having the energy left for actual cries, let alone the gut-wrenching sobs he felt imprisoned inside his rotten crumbled heart. Since he could feel the darkness encroaching on his senses again, he marshaled the last dregs of his waning strength and tried to say what he should have spent the last decade saying.

 _(Thunderbirds are go! - mission in progress theme)_

 **Beeeep... Beeeep... Beeeep...**

"I love you Alan. I have always loved all five of you boys, and I didn't love one more or less than the others. I did love you badly, wrongly, and never how you deserved to be loved by a father. I was never shown the right way, then keeping my parents around so long despite all proofs they were bastards didn't help anybody... I discovered in January, after McVeigh, after jail, the chronic depression and mental damages that I suffered since the avalanche. I started seeing a shrink by the web-phone every day. I took pills. I tried to get better... I failed so miserably... My beautiful sons… My good, strong gorgeous sons, what have I done to you?..."

 _(Frederic Chopin – Funeral March)_

 **Beeeeeeeeepppppp...** " _Alarm! Heart failure imminent!"_ The room's AI spoke out.

Jefferson Grant Hardale Tracy, retired colonel US air force, retired astronaut at NASA, founder of the first colony on the Moon and first living human explorer of Mars, never closed his eyes as life left him.

He kept his poor blurry sight on the crystal-shielded face of his youngest son, his baby, looking into his sky-blue eyes trying to remember and project onto the boy images and emotions of a better time, from when his mother still lived and his father's love was both true and absolute, just as that of his siblings.

 **Beeeeeeeeepppppp...** " _Alarm! Heart failure! Alarm! Heart Failure!"_

 _(Thunderbirds are go! - Lift off theme)_

 **Close of an era**

 _(Two Steps From Hell – Winterspell)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 06:00am**

 **Tracy Island; first basement, family infirmary**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

Scott woke suddenly with the unwelcome sensations of a cramp in his right arm. Keeping his eyes tightly shut in the hopes of going back to sleep, he slowly shifted his crookedly bent limb back to a more natural angle that applied less pressure on the elbow. He winced silently at the pins and needles he felt from shoulder to finger tips when the blood flow reestablished in his arm, showing him he had been slumbering on his side for too long and scrunched up in a ball too tightly to be genuinely comfortable any longer.

Letting out the wide gaping yawn that had been straining against his jaw for a minute already, the young man rubbed his left hand through his short black hair, scratching at a few itches in his scalp and nape, wondering what time it was.

Then the odor of the infirmary's very specific soap hit his nose and the memories of last night came rushing back all at the same time. Scooter surprised himself when he realized that he wasn't crying anymore. The events of last night had been a long time in the coming and dad got what he deserved. Their littlest sibling having a private army and flying boat was gonna take some explaining but at this point, the first son was quite happy to count them on his side and let it all be.

Now that the lancing pain of the cramp in his arm was done with, he rolled onto his back and immediately winced, his face clenching as badly as his butt-cheeks as he could again feel the pain from all the cumulated beatings of the last five months. Whatever medication he had received during the night had finally run its course and he was sober again. Not at the moment he wanted, either.

 _Damned bitch, but that hurt!_

Hearing the noise of soft shoes on the tiled floor, Scott turned his head left and searched for the person, hoping it was the doctor that had been caring for them during the night. He had at some point woken to use the bathroom around 2:00am and seen his other three siblings all abed, peacefully sleeping on their stomach or side given the injuries all four of them had. He had seen a male medic dressed in black and grey fatigues but without armor or weapons. The man had let Scott handle his business in the WC in peace then offered him a quick checkup and something in the IV line to alleviate the pain. The young man didn't remember past that point, it seemed he had fallen asleep before even answering the man.

As it was, the medic who walked to his bedside was actually a woman although she was also dressed in the same battle dress as the rest of the team. She was tall at 5 foot 11 inches and could give Scott a run for body mass and strength when he was at his best shape. Her kind brown eyes reminded him of his brother Virgil while the unyielding steel and determination to finish the job was like a mirror into his own soul. Giving her a warm smile despite the pain and weirdness of the situation, Scott gestured what he needed as his throat was too dry and clogged to work properly.

Taking a hold of his left arm as leverage, the young woman helped him maneuver to a fully seated position before she pushed the button to raise the bed at 75 degrees to give him an upright but partially lounging station to ease the pain from below the hips. She quickly undid his IV line from the right arm then faced him for explanations.

"Hello lieutenant Tracy. I am Mirabelle Ahnnheuser, lieutenant US Navy, retired of course, and trained as ship's doctor. I am the morning shift attending physician for this ward. Pleased to meet you." She completed with a dazzling smile that showed all natural pearly whites at him.

She brought closer the wheeled serving table with the usual assortment of water carafe, plastic cup, metal emesis bowl and box of tissues. The ex-airman gladly took a good cup of chilled water to open up his throat, clearing out the nighttime phlegm. Nodding in thanks at her, he took the time to pan around the dormitory to check on his surroundings. The other beds were mostly empty except for one at the very end of the aisle, near the surgery room access.

Seeing his interrogation in his face, the medic told him kindly "Your brothers awoke more or less around an hour ago but were too impacted by the events of the last 24 hours to do much. Except for the needed aside to the bathroom, they all moved to the reception area for some food and another lie down on the couches. All three are there now, lightly dozing until you and Alan wake up to join them."

Gathering his courage, Scott asked uncertainly "You know about our injuries and how our dad was with us?"

Seeing her face become closed off as she nodded, the young adult tried to fight the blush creeping up his neck to engulf his face in a hot blazing redness of embarrassment. It didn't work of course but he had to try. Exhaling a deep sigh, the tired rescuer asked "Cold you give me another round of pain managers? Intravenous and topical together, if you can. I'm gonna need to be at least awake to deal with the rest of the day. I don't plan on flying any missions or fighting anybody, just being able to sit straight and talk coherently will do." Snorting despondently, Scott added "And that's pretty much all I'll be good for in the weeks to come; _sit and talk_ …"

The female doctor surprised him by carding a gentle hand through his hair, her fingers tickling his left temple as she withdrew the limb. She gave him a sad understanding smile before turning towards the pharmacy compartment, located between the reception and dormitory. She returned about ten minutes later with a tray holding a pre-filled syringe and tube of clinical-grade anti-bruising cream.

"I'm certain you know this already, but don't take any alcohol or recreational drugs, especially IV, during the course of this medication and up to four hours after it has ceased effect. Keep the paper wristband on until the prescribed time imprinted on it so any medic caring for you can see that you have this in your bloodstream." After withdrawing the spent needle, she put the tube under his nose playfully and said "Now, we can do this one of two ways: the sad lonely way or the fun with company way." She challenge him with a big gamely smile and sparkling eyes.

Blushing redder than ever, a stuttering Scott could only admit silently that he deserved this. Certainly he was being paid back for all the times he flirted with a woman while they were dangling from a grappling line, support harness or floating around in a life raft. Finally regrouping his wits, he gave a shy smile that showed off his own immaculate ( _he hoped_ ) pearly whites, answering her shyly "Well, you're the healer… What's your prescription? I'm rich; I can pay for the best treatment available, just so you know…" He told her with a wink. Since they were under the Tracy Villa, the doctor was most certainly aware of the wealth involved; she should not be offended by his quip.

Snorting in humor, the female medic baited him a bit more saying "Okay then, I'll call the nighttime attending doc. I'm sure he'll be flattered you think so highly of him without even knowing his name!"

Scott could only sputter in protest as she laughed out loud at his crimson face and indignant attempts at responding to her cheap shot. Damn! That was the sort of thing Gordon would have pulled on him if he were at hand to hear them. "That's not who I had in mind, doc!" The poor incandescent-faced patient managed to groan out.

Taking on an air of fake understanding, Mirabelle raised a finger in the air and exclaimed "Of course! How silly of me! You have your own way of handling things because you're all so confined inside International Rescue's secrecy protocols." She patted his arm and spoke out her punch line "I'll go ask Virgil if he's feeling up to some _smother-henning_. It should _pep you right up_ to _be at it_ again so soon!" She smirked a shit-eating grin at Scott as the many _double-entendres_ of her words hit him.

"Ha, Gawds! We found a female version of Gordy! Say it ain't so!" he exclaimed in exaggerated distress as he threw himself backwards into his bed, clamping his pillow over his face to hide from the awful woman doctor that couldn't be real. Not like this!

Laughing at her patient's predicament, the doctor patted his shoulder in patently false sympathy as the other hand tried to pry the pillow away from him. Her boss would not be happy if the eldest smothered himself; it was the other sibling's job to smother him back to health!

Scott could only pout with much lower lip and watery eyes as his precious shield against ignominy (pillow) was wrenched away from him to leave him defenseless against the nasty woman. Crossing his arms over his chest in what he thought looked manly ( _he was 25 years old, damn it all!_ ) he sighed and said "I'll do it the lonely way. Certainly isn't the first time in the last few years that I've had to do this type of thing." He ended seriously and quite morose.

The female medic's answering smirk was not what he expected. Nor was her verbal answer "Oh, goody! I was hoping for that choice! I have been sad and lonely for a while now and wanted something to change that! But don't worry; I know you're not _up to speed_ yet. We'll _get there slowly_." She baited him again with a truly devious smirk.

Scott could not for the life of him decide whether he was the luckiest patient in the house or had just fallen into the weirdest booby-trap he'd ever seen in his life. Shrugging, he told himself that either way, he just might get the morale booster he needed to get out of this funk and put his mojo back on.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Over in the bed at the end of the aisle, Alan held Tanusha closely as they both grinned unrepentantly at the byplay of Scott and Mirabelle. Both were decent, easy going characters that could get along swimmingly if given a chance. Not that Alan would ever try to match-make his siblings with his employees. That wouldn't be ethical and would be a betrayal of the Tracy Brother code.

Unless it works out well, that is. And if he got a sister-in-law and some nieces and nephews…

Well, a teenaged bloke could dream about having a better, brighter future, couldn't he?

Smiling at the young woman in his arms, he gently ghosted his fingers along her spine up to her neck and the back of her head so he could guide her to his face for a slow, sweet kiss. Her answering smile and willingly wrapping both hands around his neck, delicately avoiding the throat in front, showed her appreciation of his thoughtful gesture. They separated after a few seconds, both smirking at the new verbal explosion from Scott's corner of the dorm.

His indignant declaration that his backside "…Most certainly IS NOT my best profile!" Had both Allie and Kayo in a fit of mirth of their own as Mira's warm laughter erupted in the infirmary again.

Brought in from the reception area by all the racket, the other three brothers were treated to the sight of their fearless leader on his stomach with his scrubs pants down around his knees with a beautiful doctor leaning over his exposed injuries. Her well timed quip about " _asinine male ass behavior_ " as she poked his right buttock was too much for the trio and they were soon sprawled over the bed next to Scooter, laughing like a bunch of demented loons.

Alan and Tanusha helped each other out of their accommodation for the night and slowly walked over to the hilarity. Why in the world would they want to miss out on this? Both knew full well that it would be them getting razzed on at the first opportunity if the brothers got a chance for it. Not that they would be blamed for it… But payback would be in good humor.

Seeing who had gotten out of the bed, together, had sobered up the four Tracy brothers quickly even as they saw that both people had clearly disarmed and taken a relaxed stance. Tanusha still had her flight-suit opened to her beltline and ditched the sneakers to sleep comfortably. Alan had taken off the war-harness and body armor, even taking off the button-down shirt thus leaving him wearing an ash grey T-shirt and the same black cargo pants from last night. He was walking around in sock-feet too.

Virgil however could not take his eyes off the Sprout's throat. He pointed at the boy's neck, mouth agape with only an eerie gurgling sound coming out. The others were alerted to something they had missed by his behavior and all turned to look at the detail they missed. Alan did not have the vocalizer / breather device around his neck. He could breath, speak and eat without mechanical assistance.

 **His throat was intact.**

"How?" was all John managed to ask as his phenomenal mind tried to process the difference between the living teen standing in front of him and the medical scans from last night when everything went to hell in a hand basket.

"Oh, that's simple really." Alan answered pedantically as he took a small device shaped like an IPod from the pants pocket on his right thigh. He flicked a switch and his entire head, from the top of the hair down to the collarbones, was now covered in an image that resembled the clear-fronted helmet and armored neck brace he had worn last night. The illusion even produced the mechanical noise of the breather and distorted the youngest son's voice to imitate the wearing of an actual helmet.

Flicking off the holographic disguise, Alan put the controller back in its pocket while Tanu rubbed his back gently, squeezing his left shoulder in support. Raising his face toward his siblings, Alan explained "Our ally The Mechanic came up with this little trick a few years back. When we negotiated our partnership with him, it paid off some serious dividends in the areas of security, confidentiality, secrecy and detecting frauds and cons. I haven't had any problems with in-person identity frauds in over two years at my company's diverse offices. The guy may be a bit brutal and he does lack in either decorum or basic manners, but he delivers tech and know-how like few others."

"Yes" Tanusha added from Alan's side as she leaned into him to plop a quick surprise kiss on top of his head "He does deliver what he promises. Not one for conversation or parties, and I wouldn't really like to be seen in public with the guy, but he's a keeper nonetheless."

Virgil shook his head as if he were a wet dog and barked out angrily, pointing an accusatory finger at his little sibling "You bastard! You lied to us all! You aren't injured! You didn't lose your throat or your voice! Why did you do this to us? Why did you torture us like that?" the largest Tracy brother asked, obviously riled up enough that he tried to get off the bed. John and Gordon each grabbed an arm and kept him between them, on the far side of the bed and away from where an exposed Scott was frowning, coming to his own distasteful conclusions.

"Enough, Virg! Alan did right. It wasn't pleasant, but it was right." The first born son and nominal leader of the brood declared in such a final tone that it stunned the other three.

"But Scotty…" started Gordon uncertainly, just trying to get an answer.

"No; he's right. Alan did for the best of us all." John declared seriously, backing up his older sibling.

Seeing the clearly disbelieving looks on the faces of the people in the room, Tanusha asked out loud "What was he supposed to do?" he venomous voice forcing the words into their minds against their pain and disbelief. "If he had let Jefferson get away with what he did at McVeigh and gone to Wharton, what would have happened to him? You saw the prognostics from the Kansas Hospital, John and Virgil, what would the result be? Alan was more intelligent than that and saw a way to jolt you out of the sectarian miasma that Jeff had locked you into at the same time."

Alan took up for his girlfriend "It was obvious to me by then that dad was mentally ill, defective and defunct in a way that he would never heal from. He was dangerous to all of us and wasn't even trying to have a valid reason to beat or lock up any of us anymore. His fundamental reason to do all this, the island, the villa, the Thunderbirds, it was all just to control us all. And when it, the **fantasy La La Land of IR** , started failing at its job, he began to unravel and commit direct lasting harm on us."

The female doctor intervened in as gentle tone as she could. Her boss and his Lady were not the angriest, most violent kind of people but they did have nasty tempers when attacked. "I apologize for interrupting, but I have a patient that needs his treatment. I suspect in fact that at least two more need another round of pain management as well. Why don't you all take the time to shower, get your medications done and then gather in the actual dining room upstairs to hash this out. You will all be better positioned to have this out comfortably and with some sunlight and fresh air from the patio doors, it would help clear the minds as well."

 _(Frederic Chopin – Funeral March)_

A round of uneasy nods all around followed. As she was preparing to open the cream tube and give Scott his much needed treatment, Alan spoke up in soft, regretful tones.

"Jefferson is dead, finally. He died last night, at around midnight. I was standing next to him and he said a few things. I don't believe them. Not yet. Maybe never. I recorded the encounter for you. I uploaded it to the server for the media centers in your individual rooms. You could watch it alone or together in the living room. At this point, it won't change anything anymore." Alan quieted again, Tanusha wrapping her arms around him from the side in what could only be seen as a lover's embrace.

Deciding to put his KID brother's _lovelife_ in the backseat for now, Scott asked "Where is he? And what happened to Ruth?"

Virgil's part-grunt and part-snort answered him as the middle-brother gave a nasty smirk of satisfaction at the memory of his deed. "I poisoned the rabid bitch to death. Which is kinda funny cuz the drug reacted so bad to her other meds that she did end up foaming at the muzzle like a she-dog in the last stages of actual rabies. Was fun to see. And a relief. Now she can't go around clawing at our faces, leaving fingernail marks on our arms or egging on dad to hit us more and harder."

Gordon whispered softly "Is it wrong for me to be glad she's gone?" Turning his lost, forlorn face towards John he asked again "Is it wrong? Am I bad for feeling good that she won't whoop me with her spoon anymore? Am I a bad person for feeling better that we'll finally be able to eat real edible food instead of the burned poison she shoved at us every day? Is it wrong I'm glad I can finally sleep without fear of her waking me by grabbing my hair and dragging me around the floor while hitting me all over with a belt or broomstick?"

"No little brother, it isn't wrong. It should never be wrong to want to feel safe inside your own bedroom, inside your own house. You have the right to be safe, to be fed, to be rested and above all to be loved without the whole thing leaving scars and broken bones on you." Tanusha answered to the surprise of the others.

Alan shrugged, giving the older siblings a patient stare. "It will take time for all of us to wake up from this nightmare and feel the real world again. We'll take our time and get there when we do. We have **Tracy Heavy Industries** paying for all this anyways and my own company, **ASET homesteading and safety products** , can easily supplement any sudden expenses we have. None of you need to worry about maintenance or fees for a good long while. Besides, I set some guys to strip down the IR hangars and go through the house to find all the nasty little surprises that Jefferson left behind. I expect the report by sundown tonight."

The siblings' decision was made for them when Scott sneezed and then turned a nasty glare on them all. "If I get a damn cold because I had my bare ass up in the air for so long cuz of you guys, you'll all be feeling the comeback of it! Now get out and get your own damn medics so I can have my treatment and a hot shower after! Now! _Vamoose_!"

The forceful declaration got them moving, albeit with a lot of brotherly teasing culminating in John's traitorous "You're on the _far side of the moon_ now, doctor; we can't help you anymore. You are on your own." The astronaut said in a bout of NASA humor that had all the others groaning in misery at his clearly unimaginative word play.

Scott was too busy hiding his head under his pillow again to care but his groan was heard all the same just like his yelp of surprise when the female medic put on the first drop of cream on his bruised posterior: "Yiiiiah! That's coooold! Couldn't you warm it up before putting it on?" he groused as the woman answered gamely "But Scotty, your hot enough to burn anything you touch; a little cool will just help me to get closer and know you better…" She ended with her smirk unseen but clearly felt by Scott who just whined piteously in response from under his pillow.

His brothers and Tanu's collective mirth in the background really wasn't helping anything.


	4. Chapter 4

The author wishes to express thanks to anyone who may read his story and encourages them to leave reviews, comments or even flame it hard. As with any who try their hand at publicly expressing an idea or story concept, all feedback is important and welcome.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Thunderbirds, nor any other sci-fi or fantasy series, movies, comics, cartoons or news items used in this fiction as they belong to the creators or broadcasters or publishers who put them out for consumption by the public.

 **WARNING** ; the language level of this one is not too particularly trashy when we consider a story based on ex-cons, ex-military men, high risk situations and rescue specialists dealing with everybody's crap and messes on top of their own. Also, it was series canon that the entire Tracy household swore like drunken sailors on an hourly basis. They cleaned up the language a whole lot more than spic-&-span in the 2004 movie and 2015 series. Remember the internal joke that the " **all clear** " call phrase " **FAB** " actually spells out " **Fuck It All, Boys!** " because of how often Jefferson was absolutely livid with rage at all five sons at the same time. It was transformed as a familial joke to tell each other that if Dad was able to get angry to scold or punish, then they were all healthy and doing fine at whatever was happening as Jeff had always told them " _Rescue first, heal second then order the House after everything else is done and packed away._ "

 **However** , as I always warn people who read my work: this language was pretty much normal in the school yard 30 years ago when I was a teenager. So, how can you have such a thin skin and be part of the same culture on the same continent if this is really that offensive to you? Where did you spend the last few decades, if you can't take a few hard words from the mouths of kids when these words have been around since before World War I?

 **Thunderbirds**

 **LOST VOICE chapter 4**

 **Dawn of a new epoch**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – Lift off theme)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 07:00am**

 **Tracy Island; ground floor, dining room**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

John Glenn Evans Tracy, second-born son of the house, felt like a new man this morning. The nice warm tropical sunlight coming into the house from the wide open doors all around the edifice was helping him heal at long last, confirming for him that dad was indeed dead and no longer a threat. It was such a small thing really, but such a truly probant symptom of Jeff's mental illness from early on that they should have seen and known he was dangerous right from the moment Hiram begun to assemble the villa for them.

John took the orange juice carafe and served himself a tall glass to go along his whole wheat bagel with butter & honey. A small wedge of emmenthal cheese and a handful of mixed nuts from the serving bowl in the middle of the table rounded up what turned out to be a real feast for him. Normally he ate half of that and felt overly full. The contents of his plate barely qualified as a small breakfast meal in a restaurant but he felt himself get nauseous just by looking at the quantity he had taken.

Pursing his lips in thought, John admitted to himself that he had developed a severe eating disorder caused by his father's insistence that an astronaut needed to keep constant watch over his weight and body shape to fit into the space suits and escape capsules. He also used the excuse that they had a limited number of utilities runs with Thunderbird-3 per year to ferry up food and parts. Now which between food and parts do you thing Jeff prioritized?

Now think about what Jeff's reaction was when John reminded his dad about the grappling-claw / space elevator as a cheap and rapid way to send up anything they missed on one of T3's runs? John had bruises for five days following that little discussion, supposedly because of his playful quip about ' _dad loosing his memory in his old age_ '. Nobody believed _that_ to be the real reason John got beaten but nobody challenged Jefferson's manner of filling up T3's cargo hold on her monthly runs up to T5 anymore. The bully had won his real hidden objectives of micro-controlling John's bodily functions and personal habits while making it all about ' _respecting The Authority_ ' again, no matter how far from home anybody went.

Seated carefully in his wooden dining chair, John leaned back against the backrest, relaxing pleasantly, thankful that some charitable soul had affixed extra cushions on all of them so the injured brothers could eat without aggravating their injuries or keep wiggling around from the pain of sitting on the usual flimsy padding.

Now placed and restive, John thought again to the wide open doors and windows, the freely circulating sunlight and balmy air. Jefferson had always ordered that only the most minimum number of doors or windows be opened at any time. He had claimed that it was an old holdover reflex from his NASA days on the Moon and Mars to feel like flowing air meant a hull breach and imminent death. Back then, almost 8 years ago, the kids had swallowed the story without thinking; it was just one of dad's military mannerisms, he'd get over it in time. He never did. The reason was simple too; control.

Jonny bit into his bagel and sipped some OJ as he thought about the ungodly amount of cameras and sensors all around the villa and its lesser dependencies; the villas for the house servants, the Bellegants; the Hackenbacker's then the three guest houses. All had a density of sensors and audio-video monitoring that even the government-backed spaceships never had. All in the name of control. Jeff had penultimate control of the electronics beyond his kids, but not beyond Hiram who built and programmed most of everything on the island.

And Hiram was most resolutely not a control freak or a violent bastard. He just lacked the courage to stand up to Jefferson because the man had so many contacts and **money-made** allies that it was illogical to go against him within the bounds of the laws. John understood all too well why Alan acted the way he did in the end of things. It was the only viable strategy if they wanted to live on their own.

Jeff was so deluded and craving absolute control over his sons that even something inane like keeping a door or window open in the house was seen as an act of _unauthorized autonomy_ – **and rebellion** – in the context of a greater, unending _power play for dominance_. Since dad didn't trust Hiram to not hack the surveillance computers to by-pass his ever vigilant cameras and allow the kids freedom from his power, he had gone back to basics. He simply obliged his sons to physically use only the doors placed in line-of-sight of his office chair or Ruth who liked to sit on the living room patio to knit her ugly and useless thingies that fit nobody.

Basically, Jeff had used his control of the boys' access to the outside, for movement or just for air as a barometer of how much his control of their daily lives was slipping out of his grasp. As long as the young men complied with the ridiculous orders, he felt secure enough to deal loosely with the big stuff. If one of the brothers forgot his orders and opened a window without permission and then even worse, forgot to close it on time, then it was a full-blown rebellion in progress and Jeff went on the warpath.

John, 23 years old that he was, trembled in fear as he remembered the last time he had come down to Earth from T5 and very badly wanted some air after spending four weeks stuck up in the floating tin can without real contact with his brothers. He had stopped by his bedroom to take a hot water shower and change into his civvies. His need for air was so pressing he had opened the room's patio door fully to let the warm breeze flow in. That was the reason Jefferson came into the room carrying his damned wooden paddle in one hand with the written list of house rules in the other. Dad gave him twenty whacks on bare ass, while holding the paddle with both hands like a cricket bat, swinging at full strength on each blow. Then he backhanded him across the face for his ' _uppitiness_ ' at thinking he was above following the same _discipline_ as his brothers because he was away from the house so long at every duty shift.

Closing his teal-colored eyes, the blond-haired astronaut bowed his head and let the tears of relief flow freely, sobbing in heartfelt bone-deep relief that dad and grandma were no more. Maybe they could finally start to live with some damned logic and humanity in their lives again.

John opened his teary eyes and bit into his cooling bagel, savoring the sugary taste of the golden honey, another tool of punishment used by his dad plentily. Any sugar that wasn't the basic white stuff to put into coffee was strictly regulated and given in small quantities as rewards to those who obeyed promptly or followed the rules constantly without relapse for a month or longer. Suffice it to say that besides Jeff and Ruth, nobody inside the Tracy Villa ever got to eat any of the liquid goodness despite the fact it was healthier than the chemically bleached white stuff.

If you craved anything like honey, brown sugar or caramel and anything else of the sort in the natural way, then you had to have a reason to visit Hiram in his house at meal time. The man had stopped eating with the Tracy family several years ago when he realized that Jeff ran his meals like a feudal lord ran his great hall during holiday feasts. Only the blood Tracy's were seated close to him, the others were placed at the opposite end of the table and he forced the Bellegant's to prepare two different meals; one for the master and one for the ' _guests of the house_ '.

In an act of brutal ignominy, he even forced the Bellegant adults to eat in their own little villa after the Tracy meal was done with. They were servants and nothing but, no matter how he kept telling his boys that he valued them like extended family. If you use the way he treated his children as baseline, maybe he really did see them as family… And THAT would explain soooo many things that went wrong…

It is in fact because of these stupid body weight, food and meal rules that Hiram created and manufactured his incredibly excellent ration bars the way they are. It was the only way he could give the boys he loved as if they were his own children a small bit of kindness and support right under Jeff's nose without the older man having anything to say about it.

Hearing the sounds of his favorite muscular artist coming from the corridor of the bedrooms, John shook his head to clear his thoughts and stick himself firmly in the present. Once Virgil was seated, the others would not be far behind and he would need all his considerable intellect to navigate the flood of possibilities now swamping them. Possibilities that they would have to decide themselves and be responsible for in their own names. No more Jeff or Ruth to clean the mess and settle the fallout quietly at home anymore.

Somehow, Jonny felt this was the dawn of a beautiful new epoch for him and his brood of brothers.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

"Hungry!" growled Virgil in synch with the noise from his stomach as he carefully lowered himself into the newly cushioned dining room chair with an appreciative sigh of relief. His brown eyes full of gentle care gave his immediately older sibling a concerned glance before they panned over the veritable feast spread out on the table buffet-style in electrically powered warming & cooling restaurant-size pans. For the first time since last November, a genuine happy smile graced the paramedic's features.

Completely ignorant of the wince that appeared on John's face when the older sibling saw how much younger and carefree he looked with a natural smile, Virg loaded himself a plate with four eggs sunny-side up, two toasted bagels, two small thin crepes filled with mixed chopped fruits, a large bowl of baked beans, a mound of spiced hashed browns and a dozen strips of bacon. He decided to do some therapy by foodstuff too by spreading generously some butter and honey over his bagels and a drizzle of caramel sauce over his crepes. The tall athletic young man had a fork in his right hand bringing a slice of eggs to his mouth even as his left hand followed his gaze to snatch several pieces of emmenthal and two handfuls of nuts from the wooden service bowls to complete his main meal. He nodded in thanks to John when his sibling placed a tall glass of orange juice in easy reach on his left.

Both ignored the thermal carafe of coffee sitting in the center of the table next to the basket of condiments at this point. The enticing aroma of the high quality Colombian blend prepared by the cooks accidentally reminded them of Jefferson too much for comfort. Maybe later in the morning when the meeting got under way. God knew the people involved would need to whet their throats to gab and tease and whine plentily by then.

Virgil thought maybe he'd let the first serving go down easy then get himself a second plate later on during the family meeting. Dad so rarely let him have seconds, accusing him insultingly of being overweight when in fact Virgil was considered kinda slim for his size and age. He could easily pack on another 15 to 25 pounds and still be within the healthy weight category recommended by the AMA. Not that Jefferson had any advice to give on healthy lifestyles, given the cold hearted bastard lived on coffee, cigars and cognac around the clock at all hours. Virgil could remember clearly that from the moment they permanently moved to the island, dad always had both a tumbler of french Napoleon VSOP cognac and a luxury hand rolled Cuban cigar in hand as if the items were glued to his appendages. _Snort!_ No matter now; the guy was dead and would not bother them anymore.

Which reminded him; he needed to do something extra nice to reward Scott for his incredible aim.

Digging into his warm food with a vigor he hadn't felt in almost a full year, the middle son looked around the half of the ground floor visible from their position and smiled widely at John with a nod of his head. "Opened her up all the way, did you? Nice! The breeze is good at this hour."

With a shared smile and nod of his own, John raised his glass of juice in playful salute while trying to hide his astonishment at how much Virgil could eat on one plate. Then again, it was only when he was assigned to go on trips to Australia to fetch the family's mail or on cargo runs to the USA for IR that the middle sibling could actually use his own money to go into a restaurant and eat is true fill, away from the prying, disapproving glare of dad.

Another thing that would be changed promptly. John would no longer tolerate his siblings to be starved or punished for their choice of food. They would no longer be obliged to have half or more of their nutrition from Hiram's granola bars, not if he could help it. And maybe, just maybe, he could find somebody to help convince himself that he could eat his fill free of any guilt or punishments as well.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Scott Carpenter Evans Tracy was in a good and proper bitch-fit and quite okay with the situation being called just that; thank you, oh so very much! He stood, leaning with his back resting against the wall, next to the door of his second youngest brother, mind aflame with anger and guilt.

The reports from the doctor downstairs had almost made Scott decide to forego the family meeting in favor of packing his fourth sibling into the first available aircraft, taking him by force to Sidney for a full physical and internment in a clinical environment ASAP. When they had undressed Gordy the night before, the medics had found evidence of cutting, and at least one set of scars at his wrists that indicated a botched attempt at suicide by blade in the last 4 months. The scars were attenuated by the means of surgical stitching and then were lasered until they looked only slightly discolored. It wasn't all. Gordon had actual scarring on his buttocks, thighs and lower back around the waist and kidneys indicative of being struck with a thin, long item that was very supple but also too regular to be natural.

An electric wire or heavy network cable.

Somebody had been striking Gordon on bare skin with a wire-whip hard enough to cut open the skin down to the fleshy layer and then had forced the kid to not get any treatment other than some ointment and compresses when stitches and surgeries would have been necessary on some of the cuts. Some of these cuts showed signs of prolonged infection in progress and Gordy had admitted to filching some antibiotics in both syrup and cream forms over several inventory counts to try and help himself.

All this damage was also done in the last 12 months. Scott knew by whom and why.

Gordon was presently inside his bedroom getting dressed for a casual morning among siblings without care for the opinions of Ruth or Jeff about how he dressed anymore. While Scott dreaded the appearance of the eye-eroding Hawaiian shirts, the oldest son was happy to let Gordy do anything non-dangerous that he needed to help lift his spirits out of the pit they were in since September of last year.

Gordon had asked dad for a year off to go and properly train with the WASP crew instead of relying on the aborted partial 2 months of boot camp he had received before the hydrofoil accident that damaged his back and almost ended his life. To say that Jefferson had panicked at the idea of losing his youngest, smallest and easiest to dominate pain-toy was the stupidest understatement of the century. Their poor second youngest sibling had spent five weeks recovering from the beating he received. He was forced to do so while under severe food restrictions, being grounded in his bedroom without any entertainment like a spoiled child that brought in a failed test when he wasn't doing busybody jobs as further punishment. Jefferson had forbidden him not only from participating in rescues until he was healed, which thankfully was logical at the time, but also forbade any visitors to his room to boot, which was plain cruel and unneeded with all the other stuff. But then again, Jefferson just _luuuuved_ giving out his special ' _no nothing left to live with_ ' groundings to all his boys, regardless of age, education or capacities.

How the hell could the then 18 year old heal when he was denied medical care, proper food, proper sleep cycles and he was assaulted repeatedly by both dad and grandma while being worked like a mule at demanding physical chores around the house despite having already bad injuries?

 **On top of all that** , Jefferson had decided that since Gordon himself had pointed his finger on the problem, HE, Jeff, would supervise the underwater exercises and submarine rescue practices that Gords would be forced to do in both simulators and Thunderbird-4's ocean access silo. With of course full punishments for any failures or misdemeanors but no rewards for successes as he was doing this under duress as a _disciplinary redressment of his indocile, incompetent character_.

Scott mumbled something nasty under his breath that sounded like promises that he would find a way to raise Jeff from the dead and kill him right and proper this time around.

His dark musings were interrupted by the door to Alan's room slamming open to let out Tanusha, dressed in her normal green cargo pants and green T-shirt, running for her life as her explosive laughter filled the corridor and lifted spirits in an almost magical way that Scooter always enjoyed. She was immediately followed by an irate towel-only clad younger brother whose very loud promises of retaliation via throwing her in the pool all dressed had the recently arrived Gordon folded in half, holding his stomach with both arms as he cried in laughter at the sight of the vengeful **all-body blue** Alan running like a loon after the female jokester.

Using Scott's tall form as a crutch to lean on, Gordon managed to keep from falling to the floor in honest, unfettered mirth as he tried to regulate his breathing. He didn't get very far in his efforts as a jovial Virgil's voice could be heard from the dining room announcing that this morning they had a brunch special; blueberries in anything you wanted and Alan was cooking for those interested. This time, even Scott was laughing himself to tears as their baby brother was heard to shout out loud about traitors and getting back at the whole household of backstabbers. His promise to make them all pee fluorescent blue by nightfall was met by John's disbelieving answer "How could you get that done?" The 14 year old's response of "I'm uncle Hiram's favorite; he'll give me something if I ask politely" had all the Tracy males suddenly far less certain of the power structure in the house.

As the first-born managed the get the still hilarious fourth son into the dining room, they both saw that Kayo had understood the better valor of a peace offering; she had put a plate of food in front of the scantily dressed, still resplendently blue Alan. "The color matches his eyes quite fetchingly." Scott couldn't help but blurt out as he could now see the teenager in the fully sunlit room. The explosion of laughter from all the others almost made him miss the glare of promised retribution from the baby broodling. Ah, well! He was cute in that color anyways!

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Gordon was enjoying himself immensely. That was a novelty in this family, he could tell you that much. The last year since he turned 18 had been Hell on Earth the way Jeff had treated him as if he were suddenly a piece of trash floating in his mug of coffee. Why that happened was anybody's guess but Gordy was pretty sure his timid begging to be treated as an adult ( _no more paddlings_ ) and to be allowed time out of IR to join WASP training to complete what he missed had been the triggers on the man's usually unstable temper.

Plating himself some fruit-filled crepes, beans, bacon strips and spiced hashed browns, the second youngest very carefully sat himself next to Scott who was also moving with deliberate care to avoid exacerbating his injuries. Taking the time to smell the delectable aromas, Gordy was almost brought to tears as he thought to how many times his father had called him a fatso, a tubby and compared him to an overstuffed wiener when he wore his wetsuit on rescues. Jefferson insisted that divers needed to be slim to get in and out of the equipment fast, without getting stuck on the fabric or buckles. Gordon had gotten a bad beating when he tried to reason with dad, reminding him that all the neoprene suits were crafted pre-fitted to the user by their own machine in the fabrication hangar and then the weave stretched to accommodate the person's body and movements when worn.

NEVER try to reason with the unreasonable. Sectarian gurus are the epitome of unreasonable. Gordon sure re-learned that lesson that day.

Blinking back the tears before they even had a chance to manifest, the 19 year old swamped his crepes in caramel sauce and took a huge bite, savoring every second he chewed it in his mouth. Some beans and potatoes later and he could feel the sentiment of wellness begin to spread through his body as the starvation for food, care and kindness was finally satisfied in the loving atmosphere.

"Oy! Le'ggo my Eggo!" Scott barked with a big smile as he got into a playful tug-of-war over a waffle with an equally smirking Tanusha as she preferred the less greasy food. Although, try keeping the bacon away from the girl and see how long you keep your arms attached!

"Get more from the fridge! We'll need them anyways!" the adopted sister replied gamely as she maneuvered to twist the confection out of the older man's grasp. Her smile of triumph was cut just as short as the waffle when a large knife sheared through the thing vertically, dropping about half back on the serving plate where Scooter grabbed it in victory.

Turning to the betrayer, Tanu was confronted with the gentle caring brown eyes of Virgil who shrugged in amusement at her face. "Sorry kiddo, but you were in the way of my mission" he told her as he waved his empty plate before setting to the serious task of getting some food before the tribe of barbarians ate everything in sight. He'd not taken any ham or sausages the first time around because he was so hungry, but now he intended to remedy that grossly neglectful oversight post haste. Along with another pair of crepes, more beans and hash browns. At 21 years old, he was still a growing boy; he needed all the fuel his physiology could get. He had medical literature about human growth to prove it.

The other five people could only blink amazed as Virgil had finished his first round in less than ten minutes flat without choking on something. "You know, bro… You _fly_ Thunderbird-2; you're not her drop-module… You can't just stuff yourself like that…" Alan remarked causing an explosion of mirth around the table, even from Virgil whose shoulders shook as he tried to stabilize his new batch of edible therapy so it could make the trip to his seat without spilling out. "What can I say Sprout" the family's artist answered playfully "Like 'Bird, like pilot!"

Kayo snorted in her orange juice before quipping "That explains Gordon's sense of fashion a lot."

Alan continued "But what about Scott? He's not a fast at anything, especially learning new stuff. How is he like T-1? Other than the hot air coming out of his mouth, I mean…"

The following explosion of laughter and protests drowned out any chance at coherent, rational conversation for the rest of the meal as sibling banter took over the event relentlessly.

This sort of thing would have resulted in beatings, being deprived of food and getting locked in their rooms for a long time if Ruth had ever seen the scene. All this carefree, gentle, supporting sibling love and playfulness would have raised the ire of the old woman who had been raised with absolute silence around the house. Her parents had beaten into her that noisy children were simply trying to get attention they hadn't earned and as such were committing the sins of Pride, Ego and Nuisance, all of which were punishable instantly upon being discovered.

Her family had believed strongly that if you have the time to be noisy then you had time to work; if you had energy to speak then you were proving your laziness as not all your efforts were going into your task. That meant that children caught speaking as they did a job were usually punished with a strap or switch for ' _dishonesty_ ' on top of ' _laziness_ ' and ' _shirking duty_ '. Is it any wonder she was a complete crock of shite at raising kids? Or that her four sons went straight to the armed services the moment they had their high school diploma in hand?

None of the current generation of Tracy children would ever cry or miss the last Hardale and her bitchcrap. They wouldn't miss the traditions and manners of Grant Hugh Tracy as embodied by their dad either.

At this point of the brunch, the only consensus established was that they would all be much safer, healthier and happier without the blasted old fucktards to scrap their lives.

 **Band of Brothers (and a sister)**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – rescue theme)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 09:00am**

 **Tracy Island; ground floor, living room**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

The badly injured young people moved cautiously from the dining room to the recessed area of the living room as it had the best, most plush seating in the entire house. The alternative was to go out on the main terrace and pull all the lounge chairs together but nobody felt like making any efforts anymore. There were a few jeers of playful teasing as Tanusha returned from a quick trip to Alan's room to fetch him some clothes. The towel he had worn for the last two hours covered enough but there was a limit to how much of their 14 year old sibling the others wanted to see.

Coming back in the living room, she threw him a bundle and then turned around, hands deeply in the pockets of her cargo pants in a way that accidentally made them stretch quite nicely across her athletic, well muscled rear and thighs at the great approval of the five young men in the room. Grinning widely at the sight of his nicely toned girlfriend, Alan quickly pulled his boxers under the towel before dumping it on the couch then he pulled on his jeans and T-shirt next. He decided that the weather was nice enough that walking barefoot in the house itself wasn't gonna be a hardship so he bundled the socks, sneakers and flannel shirt inside the towel and set it all on the floor next to the seat he wanted.

Alan stunned his brothers by sitting on the big ugly orange couch and letting Tanusha set herself on her side, her head resting on his lap with a cat-like smile of contentment as his left hand carded through her hair after undoing her ponytail. His right hand was quite clearly resting on her hip with the fingers caressing her belly where her own hands were holding on to it possessively. While the still full-blue Allie was occupied by his ministrations, Tanu's squinted golden eyes lazily followed the other Tracy's as they selected seats around the holocom well.

"Ahem!" Scott cleared his throat noisily. "When did this happen?" he asked vaguely at his littlest sibling, his question matched by the naked curiosity of the other three boys. It should be noted that due to their isolation on the island, the Tracy brothers had become some of the worst, most unrepentant gossip-mongers on the planet and none were worse than John as he usually had eyes and ears on everything around the solar system.

Alan willingly misconstrued the question and answered brattily "Well, you see, it was all Gordy's fault. He put a skin color change joke soap in my shower but…" he took a second to teasingly tickle Tanusha's hip with his right hand eliciting a squeal of laughter from the girl. "Despite having spotted the trap, my kind, caring, gentle, loyal girlfriend called Tanu didn't see fit to tell me. Hence I'm feeling a bit blue at the moment." The young teenager waved his left hand around breezily, unconcerned by the situation; "This too, my brothers, will come to pass." He spoke in grave bass tones to imitate an oracle pronouncing prophecy on the unworthy mortals.

Scott fell prey to peals of laughter just like the others despite that his question had been sidestepped neatly by the little bugger and his quite willing accomplice. Well, lieutenant Tracy hadn't been a wing leader or gotten made IR field leader just cuz of his cute dimples! He'd get to the bottom of this!

"That was not the question, Alan. I meant you and Tanusha; when did that happen?" the oldest came at the problem from the front; less chances of dodging the bullet that way.

"Well, at your age I thought you knew these things Scooter, but it goes like this…" Alan started in a simpering tone normally used by adults to explain relationships to 5 year olds.

The new explosion of mirth from the other siblings told Scotty he was clearly on his own at trying to dig them out of their virtual bunker. Kayo's satisfied smirk also told him she would not be helpful in any ways. Damn! That girl always liked her secrets too much! Especially in a house full of gossips! How could they have the good stuff if she kept hoarding it all away in the shadows like this? And it was HIS baby brother this was about, to boot!

John cleared his throat, mostly to avoid choking on his own laugh-induced spasms, and tried to bring the conversation back towards the more necessary topics. The also necessary juicy sibling gossip was less vital though and could wait a tick or three. "Allie! I don't want to sound insulting towards you… But why the fucking Hells did you make us all think you would be mute for life? I think you started to say something earlier this morning but I was too much out of it to process anything clearly. Could you please explain at length why you decided this?"

Alan leaned back into the couch's backrest until his head was tilted upwards to the ceiling, his left hand unconsciously rubbing Kayo's scalp in a way that was soothing to both of them at the same time. The young teenager closed his teary sky-blue eyes as he remembered the hurt, shame, misery and evil he witnessed during the last decade of his life. He didn't feel 14 years old; he felt 84 and above. Taking a deep calming breath, he drew strength from the tight hold Tanusha had on his right hand, anchoring him in the present with a friendly presence.

"Look guys, to begin with, there's a few admissions I have to make. Firstly, I am nowhere near uninformed about what dad did to all of you when I was away at boarding school. Thanks to Tanu convincing Hiram for me, he connected several phantom ' **Y** ' splits in the cameras and sensors that dad had placed around the house and IR hangar complex. Given the thousands he had all over the island, it was a losing battle to try and tag those so we didn't. But for those in the house, they were all wiretapped right at the source; the active sensors themselves so we got the unedited data."

Alan righted his head to face his brothers. His own visage was closed off, his features pinched in concentration as he ordered his thoughts to offer them out loud. "We began tapping the wires almost as soon as Jefferson started trying to push his sick militaristic crap on us. When he tried to justify keeping the windows and doors closed on some NASA protocol shite that sounded as phony as it was. He never did that in Kansas or New York; why do it here? Then there were the closed rooms that only opened from outside and only with his _Master of the Domain Key_ or _IR Commander Cardkey_. My room wasn't the only dismal prison cell he built on this island; it's just the only one you guys know about. I found a few others, spread out around the villa, the IR complex and there's a dozen on the island at large."

Virgil asked the question all brothers had on their minds "Why did you do that? Why did you hijack the sensor grid and keep the records?"

Alan stopped a few seconds while Kayo raised herself to a seated position to wrap her left arm around his shoulders and neck, giving him the support he needed to continue. "At that time when he bought the island and started building, I lived mostly in Kansas with Gordon and Virgil at Ruth's farm. We went to public school by day and worked hard at farm chores evenings and week-ends. Ruth hated idleness and systematically accused us of being lazy, slovenly and aimless layabouts. We were slapped in the face and hand-spanked daily with Virgil and me getting the wooden spoon once or twice a week when we back-talked. Gordon got spooned almost every other day for the flimsiest reasons. When we tried to complain to dad, he paddled all three of us until we were injured, unable to stand without help and then let Ruth at us with Grant's razor strop while he stood by, ready to beat us worse if we didn't submit to the rabid bitch's depredations."

Alan leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, trying to console himself that the monsters were dead and gone. "Because of the way dad let Ruth treat me, Gordy and Virgil, while attacking us as well, I figured out real quick that life on the farm would never be good or safe for us and the island would be worse when we finally went over there. So I talked with a few kids at home that had the cops or DCFS over at their house to settle things in their family. I got the idea from them to place a few cheap nanny cams bought at the thrift store through friends around the farm to record how grandma, granddad and dad hurt and beat us all the time. It came in handy eventually, although at a great cost.

Allie closed his eyes again, thinking of the man who died before him last night, the cruel vindictive bastard who would never have let go. He opened his eyes again, more determined than ever to make them understand his reasoning. "Think, guys! Use the training you got in school, in your jobs before IR and then for IR itself." He panned around the room to make eye contact with all four siblings before concentrating on his explanation. "All the recordings from the farm cameras showed a clear pattern of systemic violence, abuse, assault with weapons and in some cases torture. Just because an adult calls out the time-worn old lie of ' _parental discipline_ ' doesn't make it true or acceptable. We were being lied to, attacked and injured with alarming frequency that only paused when Grant died suddenly at the hospital during his checkup for his liver condition. But then it took up again and never stopped."

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Gordon got up from the sofa and went to the kitchen to fetch some orange juice carafes and a basket of muffins, croissants and Hiram's granola bars. He put in the basket the pots of honey and caramel from breakfast just in case somebody's sweet tooth woke up. Taking out one of the large serving trays, he was wondering about how he was going to move that thing around fully loaded with his wobbly legs when the answer came in the form of Tanusha who took the tray by the handles and nodded at him to fill it. The pair worked in amicable silence, well aware of the equally silent living room behind them. They returned quickly with their bounty and set it on the round wooden console that housed the holocom before taking their snack back to their seats. A few minutes of silent movement followed as the other Tracy boys took their own little ' _pick me up_ '.

Alan was grateful for the silent intermission; it was necessary for him as retelling everything was incredibly painful for him and for his brothers too. Some of the revelations would assuredly be greatly embarrassing, probably shameful too even though the brothers themselves were not to blame for events.

"Okay, Alan's tell-all, part _deux_ " Gordon quipped playfully in a bad imitation of a foreign reporter.

Nobody laughed or even smiled at the fourth son's lame attempt at humor. Nobody blamed him though, and that was a novelty. With Jefferson and Ruth in the house, he would at least have gotten his mouth slapped shut, maybe even gotten three or four whacks on the ass with the paddle for ' _interrupting important business with inane chatter_ ' as dad used to say when he had no real reason to beat him.

Alan finished his plain oatmeal muffin and glass of juice before settling back into the couch. Tanusha stretched languidly like a cat and laid herself back on her side, head on her boyfriend's thighs, much to the amazed look of the older siblings who still could not understand THAT particular development.

Scott pursed his lips and frowned as he took in the sight of his littlest baby brother and what amounted to his sister-of-the-spirit and just how at ease and caring they were together. An emotion like a spark of jealousy tried to ignite in his heart only to be quashed brutally by big-brotherly pride at Alan getting the girl so fast and also a good deal of pride at his choosing so well. Any jealousy that she chose someone other than him would never survive the fact it was one of his own brothers she thought was worthy of being her soul-half. Scooter slouched a bit in his sofa, finally at ease and willing to really hear and make an effort to comprehend what his kid brother was saying.

John sighed a bit, saying goodbye to another dream as he watched the byplay between Alan and Kayo. Nobody with eyes could deny the closeness and trust. That wasn't a recent relationship; there was history between them for them to be this close and open with each other. Oh well, at least she chose well. If she had picked outside the family, John would have data-mined the living daylights out of the guy to expose his flaws and punt him out of her life before he hurt her. Older sibling duties oblige and all that…

Virgil just gave the pair a knowing smile and raised his orange juice glass in mock salute, earning a wink from Tanusha in return. Alan nodded towards him gravely but his face was still closed off, his mind in the past. Virgil adjusted his heavy bulk on the extra cushions under him and managed to not wince in pain as the excellent pain management drugs did in fact cut the worst of the agony from his many bruises. Virg wasn't emoting about the young couple's revelation of them being together. He was more concerned with what would happen legally to their family now and the presence of mercenaries that he wasn't sure who controlled for real.

Gordon was down right depressed. Again. But in a good way, contrary to the time four months ago when he put a box cutter through his wrists right under dad's nose as the fucking old bastard was threatening to beat him again. He had asked Jeff if he truly believed that beating a dead cold corpse would really have any effect on his attitude anymore. For the first time in almost ten years, the fear, regrets and self-loathing he saw on his father's face had not been faked or manipulative as the older man tried desperately to seal the injuries enough to bring Gordy to Hiram for complete surgeries before he bled out in his arms. Gordon did not blame Alan for his actions to date. He just had a bad case of ' _what if we had waited?_ ' going on. The problem was he had a good idea that Jeff would have continued and never given them any slack. As for the Sprout and Kayo teaming up, WTF? Wasn't he fourteen and she nineteen? How did that work anyways?

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Alan sighed and picked up his tale. "You have all been trained to deal with rescues in a context where one of the persons is either mentally unstable, intoxicated or clearly criminally assaulting the victims at the scene of the accident. You all know the basics of dealing with dangerous, unstable people. Why in Tarnation did none of you ever put it in practice with Jeff and Ruth? Because you didn't know better. Because you were programmed from early childhood to just shut up, suck it up like a man and above all else, obey the leader blindly and faithfully or else the **Wrath of Dad** would be upon you."

Alan rubbed his left hand angrily through his short blond hair then used it to gesticulate at the group. "All the time we were growing up, the signs were there. When I saw confirmation of those signs written in bruises and bleeding welts on the skins of my brothers, I got a gut instinct that something had to be done. That was when I got the cameras. Fuck, did I get an eye full of shitty stuff I wish I had never seen or heard of in my life! I had cams in every room and most corridors across the house, barns and sheds on the farmstead. What they recorded was preciously kept and stored at the office of my Children's Public Assistance lawyer in Kansas City since I was six years old. To this day, I wish I could take out my eyes and dump my brain in a vat of bleach to forget it all."

Scott was paler than John for a change; "You have recorded at the farm since that far back? And nobody ever knew until now?" he asked in a whisper-quiet voice that quivered.

Alan turned a look of utmost sympathy and love towards the young man he had once mistakenly called 'daddy' when he was four years old since Jefferson was never present and Grant was bed-ridden at the hospital since before the avalanche that wrecked their lives. Despite the cruel beatings and vitriolic, heinous tirade from Jeff about the event, Alan had never stopped to secretly think that Scooter was much more his dad than Jeff had ever been. Something must have been apparent on his face as Scotty looked away, eyes filling with tears that fell down unbidden. Virgil, seated on Scott's left, extended a muscular arm to wrap a half-hug around his older brother, flexing to bring the boy closer into his side so he could hold him properly and give him stability while he got himself in hand.

Alan closed his eyes and spoke in poisonous tones. "I have 8 years of compiled, recorded horrors suffered by all of us at that farm. Given that the people who hurt us there would be coming to the island, well then a blind fool could see what would happen. I asked my lawyer at the Public Assistance Office what would happen to us kids if dad hurt us on that island; how would the cops come to help? His answer chilled my blood so bad that I almost had a heart attack at the age of six. He said the island was in ' **international waters** ' and that meant that no country had any legal right to come on it and tell Jefferson Tracy anything about anything. He would be like a Holy King from the Bible. His word would be penultimate and we would prosper or suffer or even die by those words. Knowing that no mercy would ever come from dad, I looked at my life and saw that the only adult capable of helping was Hiram. But any communications with him would be monitored by THI or the new villa servers dad wanted built. That was when I got the idea of the century."

Alan squeezed Tanusha's hand in thankfulness for her incredible support along the years. Without her and Fermat, he would have died a few times on that Law-forsaken island. "You remember, it was when Gordon turned 11 and I was 6 that dad brought the Bellegant's into our lives. We met them at the farmstead at first but they were rapidly moved to the island to become the household staff for Jeff. Hiram was also present on the island but had left Fermat at a specialized pediatric hospital for a few months due to his emerging asthma problems and immunization troubles."

"Anyways, since Fermie was just 4 years old at the time, Hiram kept him located in Kansas close to Ruth for immediate assistance under the Tracy name. That meant I could go see him for an hour after school every day. On one of those visits, I brought with me a sample of those camera recordings and asked Fermat how to best send those to his dad so he could take the time to see what kind of animal his boss was turning out to be. It was actually Ferms that reminded me that his dad would be closely watched by our dad because of all the dangerous machinery and classified programs he worked with. Fermat couldn't send him anything directly anymore than I could. But we discovered a solution accidentally when his laptop pinged and a message from Tanusha arrived."

"She was 11 years old and so much more at ease with tech than her parents that they made her their IT person for when they needed to send messages or order online stuff. We asked her if she could scan her system to clear it of spyware and then sent her a small test video with harmless stuff about Gordon pranking John during the school holidays before. It worked. Her machine was a personal laptop, not connected to island servers as they weren't up and running yet. She had her own antennae and encryption. She brought the next batch of videos to Hiram as asked and he was both furious and scared as a hog with all five of us walking around its pen at breakfast."

The four other guys exhaled a puff of laughter at Alan's little joke at their expanse. Let him. Last they checked he was a bacon guy, just like them. And they never saw the short reedy kid refuse a plate of ribs either.

Allie moved his right hand to Tanusha's back and rubbed gentle circles from her neck to her waist and back up in slow languid gestures that had her spontaneously turn to her stomach and allow better access to her entire back for his loving ministrations. Her big satisfied smile was visible from the side despite her face being buried into Alan's thigh muscles. She stretched a bit and wiggled her shoes off her feet to get more comfortable. If her attentive boyfriend wanted to give her some warm affectuous caresses, she certainly wouldn't make the job harder for him! _Huummm!_ Back rub…

Gordy shook his head amazed at the scene and said out loud with a much put-upon tone "Bro, man, you have got to tell me how you do that! I think I speak for us all when I say that you have gotten the best relationship, the fastest than any of us ever had. Although, to be fair to John, he never had much chance the way dad punted him to Five straight out of Uni."

The rumbling bass laughter of Virgil got the boys looking at him and Scott. The eldest son had decided to abandon all futile attempts at misplaced manliness and kept snuggled into the warm loving side of his larger, more athletic sibling. Both were chuckling at the public display of affection between the young friends ( _lovers?_ ) who were both completely blind to the world right now.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

After a few minutes of pause to renew the emotional batteries, Alan continued his circuitous explanation of his decisions. Tanusha decided that she was quite comfortably set on her belly with her attentive boyfriend's hand resting on her neck, giving her his warmth and affection so she stayed put, smiling widely all the time. The four older brothers could only marvel at the display of affection, trust and intimacy they were shown by the two young people. When had they had enough time to be physically close to create such a bond?

"After I shared all of the few recordings that I had in my possession at the time, Hiram helped me work with Fermat and Tanusha to create our own **Virtual-Private-Network** with a _customized encryption_ that he never shared with Jefferson, IR or THI. This was our secure, _private lifeline_ in case things got bad at the farm or on the island. It was a way to log into a dark-web hidden site and anonymously stream data, sound or video to the world without ever being caught. Of course, the ' _never getting caught_ ' is relative as just the types of videos and the angles they were taken from would immediately tell it was an inside job. In any case, I was gathering blackmail material since I was 6 years old and planning to use it to force dad to free us as soon as it would be just Gordon and me under the age of 18. Scott could have gotten custody easily if he was backed by John and Virgil and we all lived together. At least, that was the opinion of my lawyer from DCFS."

Tanu grunted in contempt, turning her head to glare at all four older siblings. "What Alan is trying to say politely because it's bad manners to speak ill of the dead is that the spineless lawyer explained why asking the cops or the Town Hall for help would get him nowhere. **Money** and **Power**. Mister Tracy had both in spades; **1)** he had raw cold cash in hand to spend on ruining any electoral campaign he wanted and **2)** he could shut down his manufacture and move the jobs in another state. As he had the biggest and most profitable industry in the state of Kansas at the time, and showing around twenty percent growth per year to boot, the Mayor and Governor would **NEVER** have moved against him for **ANY** reason, not even your health or your lives."

"Kayo's unfortunately right" Alan continued forlornly "Dad had so much money, so many contacts in the military and government but also in banks, companies, private ' _hirelings_ ' that I later found out were mafia people doing some dirty jobs on the side to silence detractors or keep DCFS people away from us. Yeah, there had been complains and denunciations from school nurses and teachers about how he treated us but the people were all paid off or threatened to death into keeping silent and often moving out of the state."

John blinked in surprise. "This is the first time I hear of these side deals and mafia involvement. Are you certain about this?" he asked completely taken off guard by the revelations.

Alan shrugged, looking blankly at the inert holocom in the middle of the rest area. "I think dad was always involved with organized crime at some level during his life. At least since he met somebody during the funerals for his brother just above him in age. You guys do remember that all of our uncles died in shootouts with either criminals or police during the early years of their military service? None of them lasted more than four years before putting their fingers into pies that weren't theirs and got caught by people a lot nastier than what they thought themselves to be. Grandpa Grant might have been a terror with his strap in the day, but the thugs had knives, guns and a few grenades even. The cops too. How those three losers ever got involved with **Organized Crime** then actually had the defect to think they could filch from them or blackmail them into forking over hush-money without any consequences… We were just lucky that those consequences never reached us later on."

Alan paused to whet his parched throat with some hot chocolate sweetened with honey before moving the story along towards the answers.

"And that brings us to my cowardly lawyer and how I got on dad's **really bad side**. It was when I was 9 years old, when Ruth lost her marbles and tried to murder me because dad had decided to stay on the island and leave all of us at our respective places. She had really wanted her days off to recover her strength and patience but now she would have me to contend with. Well, it was too much; the fuses in her head blew out all at the same time and she started assaulting me with everything in sight. When I yelled out to stop hurting me, she stopped dead in her tracks but something really weird and not completely sane passed in her face. She said she was tired of my saying lies, that she was gonna wash the lies out of my lying filthy mouth. She grabbed the bottle of powdered bleach she kept to clean extra gummed-up dishes and tried to force the powder down my throat. I started vomiting bile and food then some blood and soap froth… The bitch kept alternating between trying to forcibly feed me soap and beating the life out of me. Finally, when I lay inert on the floor, unmoving and barely breathing, she called dad on the island, not the paramedics, to ask what to do with my corpse."

Scott was livid with worry and seeing-red in rage against both elders. "Jeff told us back then that you had simply choked on some nuts because you were trying to secretly snack extra fast before supper and knew you'd get a spanking with the wooden spoon for stealing and willful rebellious disobedience if Ruth caught you. The lying bastard never told us it was so bad that you almost died! I would have asked the Air Force to go home to help you! I swear! I was 20 years old, Allie; I could have, would have, helped you!"

The young adult was desperate for his baby sibling to believe him and the others were in diverse degrees of ailment as they tried to think of the near-lethal situation the family's baby had to endure alone against Jeff and his many allies.

Alan made a vague gesture with his left hand, dismissing their belated concerns. "You couldn't have done anything Scott, and you know it. Dad was friends with the General in charge of the airbase you were stationed at; you would never have received permission to come interfere in the situation, let alone challenge **Jeff's almighty authority** in public like that. No, what happened was bad, but in the end, it was what helped set up the events of today."

The fourteen year old sighed deeply, closing his eyes as he cast his conscience back to those dangerous, fast-paced days when he could actually manipulate Jefferson for a few weeks when the man's remorse had almost woken him up from his depraved depredations against his children.

"Guys, Ruth, she hurt me so much…" Alan began to speak then stopped, barely able to hold back the sobs wanting to escape. After gasping for air a few times, he settled down and tried to speak in as detached a manner as he could manage. "Guys, I died twice on that table during the multiple surgeries needed to save both my life and my crushed larynx." Alan paused, closing his eyes to avoid looking at the shocked, disbelieving faces of his brothers. "My voice box was almost not saved. I had defensive spiral fractures on both arms, one knee dislocated and the ankle on the other leg was cracked. I had 3 broken and seven cracked ribs. My chest, back, buttocks and soles of both feet were covered in raised deeply bruised and bleeding welts left by whipping with an electrical cord. Nobody could explain how I came out of it without any damages to my eyes, ears or nose as pretty much every other part of me was damaged badly."

The pause after Alan's last comment lasted only long enough for Scott to grab the waste basket near the holocom and puke out all he had eaten since last night. He was followed closely by John whose stomach had been queasy from so much food and stress that the lanky blond astronaut barely managed to reach the patio doors at a run before the eructation happened. At least, it all went into the stupid ugly bush just outside, besides the wide sliding doors. If the vomit had gone into the pool, Gords would have screamed something fierce!

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

It took a solid half-hour hiatus for the whole family to pull themselves back together enough to be able to continue receiving the much needed informations before they could plot their futures from here.

Out of the inertia of habit more than preference, the young men placed back at the seats they had chosen; John and Gordon in one pair of sofas, Scott and Virgil in the other while Alan and Tanusha had actually not moved from their comfortable orange couch.

The fourteen year old started his historical review again; "Dad got with Hiram and the Bellegants on Tracy One and brought everybody home to Kansas at Mach 10. He actually landed the damned jet in the parking lot of the shopping center to be closer and dodge some traffic. They arrived passed 19:00pm, there was still some heavy traffic around the downtown area but he made it from the island to Kansas City in less than three hours and then less than ten minutes to reach the hospital. Once at the hospital, he started spraying money around like colored pellets in a paintball game at every last employee, patient or visitor that he could identify and buy off to keep quiet about our family troubles."

The teenager passed a weary hand over his hair, rubbing his scalp in fatigue and despondency. "I spent over a week in a coma, undergoing a plethora of surgeries and stomach pumping, and almost didn't make it off the table another two times. When I woke up, Hiram and my rep from DCFS were in the building so the attending physician inspected me then called for them to come to the room. Jeff was back at the farm at the time, no doubt trying to pay off somebody else to keep quiet. Anyways, Hiram and the lawyer gave me the rundown of what happened to my body and health."

Alan took a sip of his new hot chocolate before continuing. "Hiram left the room to go check on the pharmacists for the meds he had ordered for me, leaving just the lawyer in the room. Dad appeared out of nowhere, he'd been called by the orderly's about my waking up. No hellos, no ' _welcome back son_ '; he went straight for the throat by telling me I had cost him nearly six million dollars of hush-money to keep the cops, DCFS and Town Hall from being warned. He told me to shut up and not make any noises about abuse or injuries because his capacity to keep me and my brothers together as a family depended on it. That was when I formally introduced the guy in the cheap brown suit as my lawyer from DCFS to dad who thought the man was one of my doctors. You should have seen his face change colors; it was like the disco ball in a nightclub!"

Gordon choked on air as he heard that little nugget drop. "I bet that went just peachy with the old guy! How the hells are you still alive today after shoving a lawyer at his face?" the adolescent sibling asked.

Alan's smirk was nasty and showed a lot of pain at the same time. "Besides the injuries that Ruth had already given me? I paid for it ever since. Surely you noticed my bedroom on the island? Anyways, the lawyer brought with him copies of the recordings that I had done but only for the farm. The man never had access to the island systems and was never made privy to the events here, mostly to protect us from Jefferson's retaliations if he discovered that his precious tools of control had been subverted against him. Anyways, to make the story shorter, the lawyer knew he couldn't get Jeff into a jail cell, not even for a booking at the precinct. So he did what he could: he haggled a monetary settlement put into an autonomous trust fund to pay me off. Jefferson was a bit stunned by the offer I made to sell off my silence but since he was deep in one of his bipolar guilt trips, he signed the checks, the DCFS fees and even the partial emancipation documents that created my little anonymous numbered incorporation and made it impervious from future attempts by Jeff or his minions to take control of it against my wishes."

"Wow, bro! You bled cash out of dad!" Virgil exclaimed in admiration at his sibling's gumption. "How much did you take him to the cleaner's for? A couple of grand's? A hun'rd thou?" the athletic medic asked with a wicked smile of satisfaction.

Tanusha exploded in laughter, trying to bury her face deeper in Alan's lap to muffle the guffaws that shook her lithe athletic frame like a reed in a storm. The nonplussed faces on his brothers were too much for Alan and he also exploded in mirthful laughter, tears running from his eyes from the effort.

After a few minutes, the two friends choked out a few last huffs of humor before turning to the assembled siblings with matching smirking faces. "Is that really how much you think that my pain and suffering at Ruth's hands was worth, a few grand's? You wound me, bro!"

Kayo tried to stay silent but couldn't; she started laughing again until Alan playfully swatted her well positioned plump rear, eliciting a loud smacking sound and a laughing "Yow!" from the girl. She tried to pout sadly at her boyfriend but the younger teenager didn't seem to buy it in the least.

John palmed his face in disbelief whilst Scott guffawed loudly, exclaiming "If any of us had tried that move on her, we'd have lost an arm cuz she'd be beating us on the head with our own ripped-off limb!"

"Yeah!" Virgil added playfully "And she'd use the sopping wet end to hit us too!" thus causing another explosion of good humor amongst the group.

Tanusha smiled then playfully poked Alan's thigh with her left index finger, whispering threats that had the young male blushing under his blue skin. His answer in the form of tickling Tanu along the ribs was ample evidence though that he decided not to let her attempt at pushing him around stand unchallenged.

The four older siblings could only watch raptly as the two friends played and showed affection like genuine lovers who had been together for a long time. This situation was getting to be a bigger question all the time for the brothers. On the other hand, it was patently obvious that Kayo loved their little Allie-Gator and had a great relationship with him. Lucky bastard!

After a little more horsing around between Alan and Tanusha, the pair settled down with the boy's ominous "I still owe you for letting me be blue! Just you wait, girl! It'll be epic, I tell you!" directed at his girlfriend who shrugged carefreely at his promises. "You're just a boy, Allie. What can you do? And more importantly, what could you do that would work on me?" she fired back with a daring grin.

The new laughter from the assembled brothers made the pair redirect their attention outwards at the room while blushing when they realized just how much of their relationship they had shown.

"Alright, people! No nuttin' to see! Keep your eyes forward!" Alan tried to bellow in an attempt at imitating a traffic cop waving people away from an accident. Somehow, it didn't work at all…

Confronted by four pairs of curious, humorous eyes, the young man sighed in defeat and admitted "Okay, okay! I took dad and, maybe, just _maybe_ mind you, dragged a couple of millions out of him…"

The dead silence that followed was impressive. The last time it happened, Alan had been 11 years old and had asked his brothers what dad was good for inside International Rescue since Scott was field leader, John had just become space monitor and Virgil was already part-time pilot for T2. That left Jeff spending his time at home with a cigar and cognac, just ' _supervising_ ' but not doing much except yell and hit when the guys returned. Let's just say that the boys had kept that question and its incendiary answer under wraps and never spoke of it again until now.

Scott unfroze his brain first and asked in a falsetto kind of voice "Couple of millions? As in US dollars kinda millions? From dad?" the young adult seemed rather faint all of a sudden. John girded himself as best he could: "Just how many millions are we talking about here, Alan? Exact numbers, please."

Kayo snorted, commenting playfully "You do realize guys that bank information is both confidential and privileged? And you remember you are neither as you are a bunch of planetary gossips?"

At the mock offended faces of his brothers who were pretty certain the girl was trying to deny them their honest due of juicy sibling gossip, Alan bent forward to bury his face into Tanu's hair so he could muffle his laugh. His shaking shoulders somewhat gave away the game though and soon four older siblings were clamoring for details and explanations on top. Clingy buggers, the lot of them!

"Okay…" Alan said while making appeasing gestures with both hands. "It was actually 9 million US dollars by wire transfer to a Swiss bank in Basel where it was put into a locked numbered account that only I could access. My DCFS lawyer wrote the papers for the out-of-court settlements, the falsified DCFS reports about an innocuous accident, the incorporation papers, everything. Then five months later dad had him killed by his contractor in the mafia. I have this confirmed by external sources. I made some seedy friends in boarding school and had them look into the case. Some cops on dad's strings wrote it up as drunken driving gone bad on a country-side road when in fact the guy was sober and blood analysis indicated he hadn't drunk anything in months. I have the photographs of those reports; real, fake and a few other papers that were swapped out along the line."

The silence that descended on the living room was complete. All four older siblings were looking at the baby brother as if he had grown a new head that wasn't the same shape or colors as the first one. It lasted until Gordon got off his sofa, knelt on the floor and performed an exaggerated kowtow, loudly proclaiming his indignity while his face was flat in the thick carpet. That clownish display got the rest of the men exploding back into action, asking all at once about the money, what was done with it and such…

Tanusha put her right hand at her face, fingers in her mouth, and whistled a sharp signal to shut up the cackling smother-hens before they laid themselves a clutch in worry and stress.

Now that all the semi-adult men were silently back in their seats, Alan gave them all a withering glare, speaking coldly the lay of the land. "It's **MY** money. I suffered for it, I bled for it and I damn **near died** and almost **lost my voicebox** , Adam's apple and trachea on that event for the damn cash! It's mine! Keep your well-meaning mitts to yourselves! I did more with it than any of you would have anyways, so _shiiiaaattt up_ and leave my finances be!"

 **Gabbing siblings, History and Laws**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – rescue theme)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 11:30am**

 **Tracy Island; ground floor, main patio near pool**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

After another half-hour pause to let tempers settle, the brood of sibling decided to benefit from the sunlight and move out to the patio by the side of the wide pool. The light and open air would help them to feel the freedom they now had and come to terms with all that it meant.

Alan sat on a lounge chair with Tanusha, her behind him and serving as a human cushion to offer comfort and support as they went through the harder, more private parts of what the teenager had to reveal to his brothers. They would not be able to function as a family or mount a common defense if the other four weren't brought up to speed on events of the last year.

Gordon decided to switch out his jeans and shirt for swim trunks; he would float on his back in the water as he listened to the hidden history of his baby brother. John dropped a small pile of cushions on the pool side and rolled up his pants legs, took off his shoes and socks then very slowly, carefully sat with just his feet in the calming, soothing water. Virgil guided Scott over to the lounge chair next to the lovebirds and they helped each other to lie down on their left sides, thus freeing their right hands to gesticulate or maneuver the mugs of coffee they both had with them.

Once everyone was situated, Alan sighed deeply but put on a determined face. He started up again his story about the things they had missed about Jefferson and his behind-the-scenes misdeeds.

"Okay guys; I thought about this and I'm gonna answer you. Back five years ago, I got 9 million dollars in cash from dad. I told him that since I had another 9 years of misery to live with the gribitch Ruth and him before I turned 18 and could legally walk out then he would pay me that to keep quiet or I would tell the media and DCFS right away. With my lawyer, we both admitted that Jeff would probably get a pardon from either the Kansas governor or the US President fast enough to break the trial before it began but the officials would have to wait until the charges were filed and the first plea entered in open court before they could make that move. Our position was that even if he did get pardoned, it would be the publicity that killed his reputation, gave DCFS the arguments needed to break up the family and the Feds, NASA and military would cancel their contracts with THI because of the ' _Family Protection Acts_ ' that were passed in 2033 by Congress in DC."

"What were those again?" Gordon piped up "I think I remember something about hearing from those back in my civics classes in grade school a decade ago…"

With a long suffering sigh at the lack of general culture his brothers usually exhibited, John waved a hand at Alan to let him answer for him. The young man had been speaking plenty this morning and affording him a few pauses now and then would help him endure the long run. "Back in 2032 there was the discovery that a **self-labeled church-group** ' _The Congregation of Sovereign Christian Citizens of Free America_ ' had setup a largish village & factory in North Carolina's Cape Fear, in the forested region between Wilmington and Sunset Beach, on the banks of the River of Cape Fear around the year 2025. It's important to know that they were never in history recognized by any level of the US governance as an actual church or religious organization since they were like a **rural militia** with _unholy books_ to go along with their _whiteness and guns_ more than anything else. These bastards were actually the deepest most right-wing paranoid dregs left over from the ' **White Nationalist** ' movement propelled to fame and riches by the **Trump Presidency Era of 2017-2024.** With their resurgence getting broken by the general population, the _super-minority_ wanted to install themselves in a remote unseen place where the newly elected Democrats and ' _colored allies_ ' in Washington DC would have trouble finding and stifling them."

John took a sip of coffee and frowned as he remembered the term paper he did on the subject back in high school when the ' _American History_ ' class covered the **Trump in office** and **post-Trump** era's movances. "You need to know that these people were a toxically radioactive mix of hard-core Nazis, christian white-supremacists, lay white-nationalists, Ku Klux Klan families and some who might not be white-power-only people but had a streak of _anti-semitism_ and _anti-arab_ in them that ran deep and hard so these were the folks they felt they could live with the best. The group started out a little less than a hundred families but soon grew to about three hundred households, all built-up wildly at high speed like the ' _mushroom towns_ ' back in the **Wild West years** when prospectors found gold in a creek."

The family's scholarly astronaut sighed deeply, focusing his thoughts on an old batch of knowledge he hadn't had any reason to think about in almost a decade. "The thing is, these racists – _slash_ – religious were also the worst type of misogynists and ageists you could find. They were the archetypical crotchety ornery **old white christian conservative men** in the same vein as grandpa Grant had been but much worse in many ways. They hated everything with seven different passions all the time; non-christians, atheists, non-whites, women, children, most animals except maybe some farm cattle, horses and dogs cuz those are **manly-men's** best pals… You see the type? In keeping with the social norms and values they shared, these people established an **illegal un-incorporated village** managed by an _unrecognized municipal council_. In truth, it was more like an old medieval abbey run by the bishop with an abbatial council around him. The kinds of laws they used were ' _biblical-only_ ' themes, rules and by-laws; anything deemed atheistic, liberal or democratic was seen as the works of the Devil and his Red Communists thus shunned."

Virgil groaned in dismay and asked "Is it me or do these _redneck idjiots_ sound just like the kind of people that Grant, Ruth and Jefferson would have loved to have for neighbors? It sure sounds like the kind of setup dad was running on the island from the start."

John's melancholy smile hit his brothers in the heart as the gentle blond answered "You're closer to the truth than you think, Virg. The group was actually composed of several sub-sects that had been outlawed and even placed on the **USA National Register of Domestic Terrorists** in the two first decades of 2000. These people were all like Grant and Ruth or worse; they repeatedly beat their children in the name of ' _corporeal christian dis'K'iplinings_ ' but some also advocated and practiced polygamy while all manners of sexual exploitation of minors, especially incest, was rampant. It was usual to see an old man have three to six wives and some twenty to thirty kids spread among them with a trawl of grand-kids after that. These men used their children, grand-children and great-grand-children any ways they liked. The political setup was both a **basic gerontocracy** with **plutocracy** _on top of it_ as ' **Official Authority** ' was based on the _Eldest Living Male_ of each Household, just as in the _Middle Ages_. Amongst the Old Men, the richest, those with biggest land parcel or those with the most numerous wives  & procreation were the influential decision makers of the group in that specific order. Riches were important to these people as ' **Prosperity Gospel** ' was the basis for their religious doctrine and business mentality. They stole public land to install their commune without permits because in their views: " _Nobody said otherwise or stopped us cuz God wants it that way_ " in that _childish, rebellious, unintelligent manner_ that is the crux of how **prosperity dogma** works."

John passed a weary hand over his face as he remembered the films of the events shown in class. "The people in the commune were enslaved under whips, electric cattle prods and guns. They worked the farmland of the geriatric owners but received only a bunk, barely any clothes to tough out the rough nordic climate and a pittance of edibles which was handed out only twice a day. Only men of power, authority or means were allowed to stockpile food; everybody else was kept in near starvation so they stayed docile and afraid. The kids were routinely obliged to prostitute themselves to their Ancestors' business partners or church officials when the **Mighty Father** wanted a favor like a ' _permit to get more land_ ' or build an extension on the house or open a new store, etc… Young people up to their late twenties and mature women at all ages were nothing more than trained monkeys to be used and abused by these people. Then the scandal exploded in public in 2025 when they were discovered."

It was Scott who took up the recap at that point as he now remembered seeing this in history class as well. Man, did it make him feel old having to think back to high school like that! "I recall that now, John. Some tourists from Maine were vacationing in the Cape Fear area with their family sailboat on the sea when they saw some people that looked like a family of young children out to play on the beach but no adults in sight. They brought in their boat and then used a small zodiac to reach the shoreline to speak with the kids. When they arrived they saw the kids were injured, malnourished and worse, two little babies barely two years old were comatose. They brought the badly dressed sick and injured kids to their boat and made haste for Sunset Beach and its hospital but got lucky when they saw a Coast Guard cutter after just a half-hour at sea. Then the story of what was going on inside their commune broke out to the world. Especially since the boat owners had a good CPU with satellite antennae; social media did a wonder at alerting the population of the atrocities going on in there."

John picked up from his older brother: "And that leads us to the crux of WHY the new laws were passed in 2033. That commune of racists and Jesus-nuts was based around farming and hunting the woods as the basic means of subsistence but the older men wanted money to pay for their vices, especially their alcohol, tobacco, cannabis and **the proof of their manly manhood: guns**. Lots, lots and lots of guns in each house with only the men and boys older than _age twenty-five_ being allowed to use them. It was the fear of these guns that kept the kids and women docile and obedient. Well, that plus the armed posse of elderly bastards who patrolled the streets to **beat, rape or lynch** people willy-nilly _just for shits and giggles_. So the social order was this: women took care of the house chores while young men toiled in the farm fields and young boys hunted with snares and bows in the woods. The old men aged 50 and above worked either at Cathedral Plaza (town hall) or in the one big money-maker in the village: a weapons factory making guns and munitions for the US military and governments supported by US foreign policy."

Scott cut in "And that's why those new laws in 2033 are so important to understand why dad was in a panic and accepted paying off Alan so bloody much!" he exclaimed with a light of recognition in his blue eyes. "When the whole fiasco exploded in the media, the USA Federal Government received the request from North Carolina to send in the National Guard to quell the criminals and free their slaves from bondage. The result was a three weeks firefight with guerrilla tactics used by both sides all over the forests and towns around Cape Fear. At the end of the year after everything was shot, arrested, seized or accounted for, only about four of the old white men survived as they usually preferred to die shooting or committed suicide after murdering most of their kin to keep them enslaved to them even in death. There was like 600 dead youths between the ages of 0 and 25 years that were found spread over the place in hidey-holes under barns or secret bunkers in the forest in the aftermath when the National Guard and FBI were doing the cleanup. Add to that about 400 dead adults and geriatric tyrants who were the main instigators and controlling force. There were about 375 kids and some 200 women found alive that never really recovered. Seeing this massacre but also the tyrannical religious depravities that sparked it all, the US population had an allergic reaction to religious and racial dogmatics across the board. It was a grassroots upheaval wide enough and bad enough to force Congress to unite across _Party Lines_ to act against such fools occurring again. Since the entire commune was kept alive and flush with cash by military money from government contracts, the laws were dramatically changed."

"Yes, that's right, Scott." John completed the historical segue. "The Congress of 2033 decreed that from then on, any individual, family, sect, church or religious movance or corporation found culpable of such anti-human or anti-american crimes would be banned for ETERNITY from ever participating in Federal, State or municipal contracts, especially police or military equipments procurement. Also, they would never again be allowed to purchase land, buildings, machine-tools or any type of firearms on US soil. Any such person or group would also be forbidden from receiving taxpayer moneys; be it any type of service contracts, loans, bursary, mortgage, charitable tithe or tax credit. From then on, any such group that was identified and convicted at least once in Municipal, State or Federal courts would be put on the **USA National Register of Domestic Terrorists** and never again be able to enjoy US economic or social benefits ever again."

The six young people shared a look of understanding. Since Jefferson's main money source was Tracy Heavy Industries and their main buyer was the US government through both NASA and the US Air Force, it was blatantly transparent why the man had been scared stiff of being discovered for what he was and what he was building on the island. His entire setup was a limited, small-scale replica of the debased societal order that the commune of crackpots had made thirty years ago. If the Federal government got winds of it, not only would International Rescue become **persona non grata** on US land, but so would THI and the other Tracy familial holdings as well. Any investigation of the older generations of Tracy's and Hardale's would result in those farms and heritages being seized for dismantlement and auction just as much as the massive THI company would be. Then there were the criminal court convictions and jail time on top to consider.

Yeah, Alan and his DCFS lawyer had scared Jefferson straight into a fit of panic at the time. Unfortunately, the sick bastard had friends in the shadows and connections that his children learned about far too late to defend themselves from them.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

After a few minutes of silent contemplation about the revelations just heard, the young people took a deep breath and plunged again in the miasma of their family's existence. Alan took the lead again as it was his explanation they all wanted to hear.

"So, you see, me and the lawyer got to pull a fast one on dad but it didn't end there by a long shot. A few months later, the man was found dead in a ditch after a rather strong rainstorm, with an open bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon on the seat next to him and liquor splashed all around on his person. It was a cheaply done setup to make it look like he had been hitting the hard stuff to forget all the depravities that he became aware of during his day job. Some felonious cops beholden to dad because their relatives had gotten jobs inside THI's Kansas City manufacturing plant just happened to be the responders for the accident. Everything got wrapped with a bow on top and handed to Jefferson like a birthday gift. My life went downhill since, but Jeff never got his money back, nor did he ever manage to usurp control of my company."

Virgil's deep baritone voice sounded as he asked his younger sibling just 'WHAT' exactly was this company and was it that important? He could see that Alan was circling around the subject without ever broaching it truly. "Come on, bro!" The pilot of T2 egged on "What is this company you built that it could make Jefferson panic?" Looking around at his other siblings for support, the athletic field medic added "It has to be a doozy or you'd have talked about it already. In fact, if it were useless or menial, I'm pretty sure dad would have talked about it just to put it down in public. So; what is it?"

Scott, from where he was lounging on his left side, leaning on his elbow with his head held in his left hand, gestured with his free hand that he wanted to get the goods NOW. "Inquiring brothers want to know, Alan! Stop holding back on us, man! You know we don't get nearly enough gossip around this isolated piece of desolation called home."

Taking a deep breath to garner some patience, the youngest sibling prepared himself for a cataclysmic outbreak of smother-henning from his older brothers. Why didn't they just get their own lives so they could leave him his? Weren't they old enough yet?

"Fine, fine, fine! Don't have a clutch on the patio on my account, you clucking hens! I swear! Any more worrying and smothering and you'd all sprout feathers like real chickens!" The fourteen year old grumbled in good-natured gab at his brood of siblings. Virgil's loud answer of "And proud of it, too!" had every one laughing at just how true that statement was. Neither of the Tracy sons had ever been shy or embarrassed about all the love, care, hugs and kisses they gave each other as part of their relationships. They were close because they wanted, because they could and because with their elders the way they had been, their survival had depended on this close-knit support.

Tanusha, from her position sitting behind Alan, wrapped her arms around her young friend and whispered something in his ear, too low for the others to hear. The boy closed his eyes as he exhaled a loud sigh of anxiety. Opening his eyes again, he looked all four older men before plunging into the harder subject. Money had never been a real issue in their relations, but that was because they didn't have any big disparities to talk about or be jealous of. Until now.

"Five years ago, when I got the money, I had already been talking with Hiram, Fermat and Tanusha about trying to market a small product that I had come up with. By this, I mean that I had designed the physical item and then created the basic program that ran on its integrated CPU. And yes, at the age of 9, I was already more intelligent and better organized than John had been when he was that age. It's just that my form of intellect is based on my capacity to perceive mobile items in multiple dimensions all at once and correlate causes, actions, reactions, consequences and secondary effects to the physical realm. Hiram said it was something like what _Michel de Nostradamus_ was rumored to have in his eyes and mind. Anyways, my first commercial product was an electronic lock for the homestead."

Gordon laughed out "You're having us on! All this for making and selling an electronic lock? What kind of lock? Chicken coop type or barn door type?" the 19 year old asked in a somewhat disparaging tone. He could accept that his younger sibling get some cash for the injuries he suffered but 9 mil? And he created a company that grew that amount to even more? The adolescent didn't realize it but the first inklings of a nasty case of jealousy were appearing in his attitude.

Kayo glared at her friend Gordon; they were the same age and had very different specialties but she could take him on and break him anytime she chose. She was a mistress of Wing Chun kung fu whilst he was barely at intermediary levels in basic karate. In a contest where she chose to protect Alan from his aggressive ageist put downs, Gordon would lose quite badly.

The blue-skinned teenager snorted derisively at his older sibling's pretty obvious case of envy. "I may be blue man, but you're turning green at the gills. Was it something you ate?" he quipped in a biting tone that warned the older men that this Alan was a different animal than what they were used to. "As for the details, the company is called **ASET Homesteading and safety products** and it is the manufacturer of the exclusive line of ' _AFT Hold-fast_ high security electronic locking systems' used in several hundred military bases, ships, hospitals and laboratories. We are in the process of winning a federal contract to retool and equip the locks of every American penitentiary. The current value of ASET is around 38 million US Dollars and counting. The Canadian expansion of next year and the England / Australia / New Zealand of the year after that will each increase the company's clientele and sales enough to double the net worth in three years. We estimate the US market to be ready for us to reach out to the civilian companies like subcontractors of the Dept. Homeland Security next year."

Kayo huffed softly and tickled Alan's short ribs playfully. "You forgot quite voluntarily to mention the weaponry and vehicular divisions, or did you think they would forget the Airboat?"

Squirming out of Tanu's grasp before she managed to make him explode in girlish giggles, the teenager shrugged unrepentantly. "It's not my fault if they're short sighted. T'not like the boat is small or quiet."

Kayo poked him in the ribs again but he was too far at the end of the lounge chair for it to reach properly; she would have to get him back later. "Anyways guys, that's how Alan got mercenaries and a big-assed ship. He builds the airships, water boats, trucks and guns to sell to the US Department of Justice and other associated organizations while at the same time hiring a lot of veterans that come back from their tour of duty in the Middle East sickened by the mismanagement, graft, corruption and silent complicity of US brass with the local warlords and militias. They want out; Alan offers jobs in exactly what they trained for, and Voila! Instant private army."

John pursed his lips in thought. "It can't be as easy as that… Can it?" the blond asked of his blue sibling.

The younger male shrugged back indolently "Throw enough cash, science and man-hours at a situation and something will happen. I have a pile of moolah that I control exclusively, Sci-Tech in the forms of Hiram, Fermat and my own capable mind ergo, if I want it, then I just sign the written orders with a check or budgeting plan and it will get done. Eventually, with research, tests, field trials, etc…"

Virgil asked in an uncertain tone "Are you telling us that your airboat is a prototype?"

Alan shook his head vigorously in denial to avoid the imminent onslaught of rash smother-henning coming at him. He noticed that Tanusha had chosen that particular moment to move out from behind Alan completely, leaving him alone in the face of rushing brothers. Damned traitor!

"No, Virg! Of course not! That model is well passed beta-tests and into actual commercial production for the DOJ and DHS. They plan to use it to over-fly the southern border line with Mexico. The airboat can hover and maneuver like a helicopter but carry like an old Hercules c-130 aircraft making it ideal for prolonged patrols over desert areas and open ocean like the Gulf of Mexico. It been ready for sale since last year and we already delivered four to DHS since last November."

Scott was slowly turning an unhealthy shade of ashen gray as he listened to his baby brother speak about contracts and deliveries. "Heu, Sprout… An ordinary fighter jet can cost around 30 million USD each. Just how much does that flying claptrap set you back when you sell it to good old Uncle Sam?"

Blushing a bit under his blue tint, Alan mumbled "about 85 million USD depending on the options and weapons packages the client chooses."

Gordon's voice had a decidedly soprano tone to it when he asked waspishly "I thought you said your company was worth just 38 millions? Do you know how to count or have you been wasting your time at school?"

Before any of the others could answer for him, Alan shot back in a fighting tone " **I actually** **AM** _wasting my time at school_ ; the curriculum for high school's grade 12 is like seven years behind where I'm at! That's why I have so much time to draw blueprints and write programs for my devices! As for counting my sales and money right; well, I have an entire office with two dozen full time accountants to handle that. I have several divisions with several services and subsectors in each. It's a complex organigram that I sometimes don't remember fully _because it's just_ **that** **BIG**. _Like the company_. **ASET Homesteading** is just the founding division and principal holding shell; the others are incorporated separately to avoid a cascade failure in case of bankruptcy, lawsuit or Jefferson buying a judge to try and hijack what's mine. In total, it's worth about some 2 billion USD to date after five years of intense creative work and top-notch management."

Utter dead silence answered that, accompanied by gaping mouths.


	5. Chapter 5

The author wishes to express thanks to anyone who may read his story and encourages them to leave reviews, comments or even flame it hard. As with any who try their hand at publicly expressing an idea or story concept, all feedback is important and welcome.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Thunderbirds, nor any other sci-fi or fantasy series, movies, comics, cartoons or news items used in this fiction as they belong to the creators or broadcasters or publishers who put them out for consumption by the public.

 **WARNING** ; the language level of this one is not too particularly trashy when we consider a story based on ex-cons, ex-military men, high risk situations and rescue specialists dealing with everybody's crap and messes on top of their own. Also, it was series canon that the entire Tracy household swore like drunken sailors on an hourly basis. They cleaned up the language a whole lot more than spic-&-span in the 2004 movie and 2015 series. Remember the internal joke that the " **all clear** " call phrase " **FAB** " actually spells out " **Fuck It All, Boys!** " because of how often Jefferson was absolutely livid with rage at all five sons at the same time. It was transformed as a familial joke to tell each other that if Dad was able to get angry to scold or punish, then they were all healthy and doing fine at whatever was happening as Jeff had always told them " _Rescue first, heal second then order the House after everything else is done and packed away._ "

 **However** , as I always warn people who read my work: this language was pretty much normal in the school yard 30 years ago when I was a teenager. So, how can you have such a thin skin and be part of the same culture on the same continent if this is really that offensive to you? Where did you spend the last few decades, if you can't take a few hard words from the mouths of kids when these words have been around since before World War I?

 **Thunderbirds**

 **LOST VOICE chapter 5**

 **Smother-brothers, mother-henning and The Sprout**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – rescue theme)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 12:47am (noon)**

 **Tracy Island; ground floor, dining room**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

A short pause was needed to cool tempers down before somebody ( _Gordon_ ) lit the fuse of somebody else ( _Alan_ ) in a bad way. Since this would cause a third party ( _Kayo_ ) to react **quite** negatively it would drag the remaining three brothers into a fisticuffs they weren't healthy enough to endure, let alone give a good showing for themselves. As showing themselves to be the mature reasonable siblings ( _yeah, since when?_ ) was as important as avoiding further injuries, Scott shushed everyone and herded them back into the dining room for a midday meal more consistent than the constant coffee, soft drinks and snacks that had been at hand all morning.

If the move forced people to reorganize their seating and keep their mouths occupied with solid food rather than blabbing barbs at their neighbors, so much the better. Whilst Scooter had his own questions and doubts about what his little baby Sprout had said, he was forced to admit that the flying airboat and gunnery trucks had been real enough. The tire marks and shredded vegetation from last night were now fully visible in the noon sunlight, making any brotherly doubts moot by their very existence.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

After a half hour around the dining table spent mostly nibbling and drinking a light luncheon of sandwiches, veggies, dip and iced water, the conversation started up again. John cleared his throat noisily to get the group's attention then pointed his fork at the still sky-blue skinned sibling. "Alright Alan; how the hell can you build several of these monster flying boats in just a few months? You said you started selling them to the US government last year. How the hell can you produce those things so fast? Even Tracey Heavy Industries would be hard-pressed to equip a drydock big enough to make one unit, let alone several side-by-side. What's the catch?"

The youngest sibling glared at his second oldest brother with squinted eyes, daring the astronaut to push harder on the subject but remained silent. Instead Ally turned towards Tanusha, leaning on his left elbow to get in closer so he could whisper with her, getting a blush on her face with whatever he said. This of course set off the protective instincts in Scott, John and Virgil at the same time while Gordon got another jolt of jealousy.

Scott rapped his knuckles on the wooden table. "You know Sprout, it's impolite to ignore someone when they speak to you and it's improper to refuse to answer when your **older ADULT siblings** ask questions about your welfare and activities. Please answer John's question; it was reasonable and we all want to hear the answer." ' _There_ , the 25 year old thought, _that was nicely said in a quiet tone; Ally should answer now. He knows better than to refuse to answer when we 'talk' with him'_.

Alan turned an impressive glare towards the oldest sibling, growling out between clenched teeth "Where the Hell do you get off prying into my corporate secrets? Back the fuck off, Scott! It's my company, my employees and my tech! You don't put your paws on it unless I say so! And considering you're all sitting here eating stuff prepared by MY men, **all of which are armed, I would remind you** , then you should know better at your age than to give orders you can't back up!" The teenager pushed his chair away from the table and stood, the ridiculous blue tint of his skin no longer mattering in lieu of his words and tone.

Looking down imperiously unto his adult-aged brother, Alan sneered contemptuously at his brash attempt at controlling the youngest boy in the family. "You spent four years in the US Air Force, _lieutenant Tracy_ ; remember what happens when a superior force with better equipment and training comes to the field? You get crushed to cruddy red paste on the grass! If I have to roll a truck on your face and back up a few times to get the message through your thick skull, so be it! If you think that I presided over the death of Jefferson _Bloody_ Grant _Fucking_ Tracy just to have a replacement shouting orders at me, you need a head exam post-haste! Stay on your side of the damned fence, boy, or I'll use the blasted thing to wrap you nice and tidy for a dirt nap!"

All four siblings were flabbergasted at the outburst while Kayo sat stone-faced, her hands resting palms-down on the tabletop. She locked gaze with each young man in turn, holding their eyes until each turned away from the intensity of her glare. Seeesh! Those two were a matched pair, alright!

John felt bad. It was his innocuous question that started the meltdown and he had no idea why. Usually, talking about technology was the safest thing to do around the Tracy family's table. It was pretty much the only subject that never raised Jeff's ire and it even made Ruth pack up and leave a few times as all the technobabble gave her a headache. Why was Alan so offended all of a sudden?

Gathering his courage as he was now facing a solid tandem, John placed his hands on the table, keeping them visible as a show of not preparing to hit or throw stuff at his siblings. "I apologize little brother. You are correct; I have no right to ask what you do with your company. You had it for years and made miracles with it, so the proof that you know what you're doing is there. We'll just have to live with it. Still; we are family, we are your brothers... We just want to know that you are safe... We just need to see and feel for ourselves that everything is safe and well in your life. After all we five have been through, all that Jeff put our lives and health through... Can you understand?"

Pursing his lips in thought, Alan crossed his arms over his chest then inclined his head sideways a bit, as if trying to see his brother from a different angle would grant him some degree of perspective that he didn't have yet. Still unconvinced and showing it, the teenager sat back in his chair, leaning into the backrest but keeping his arms crossed. His body language displayed both irritation and indolence at the same time; quite the combination to go through if they wanted any information. Tanu's own stance had relaxed but the smirk on her lips told them they had a hell of job in front of them if they wanted Alan to relent enough to share his secrets since she wouldn't be helping them.

Virgil stretched his long thick arms out to the sides and then back behind him to work out the kinks and give the muscles a bit of work. He had been injured to the point of reducing his capacities so much that dad had scaled back all rescue efforts, especially since the medic had flown alone this last month given that Gordon was flirting openly with the Grim Reaper. Trying a different approach from his two older siblings, the pilot of T2 said gamely "It's cuz he's scared. He won't tell us about his flying trawlers cuz he knows they don't hold a candle to 2's capacities." Making vague gestures with his hand towards his favorite little Sprout, the brawny young adult continued to pull his leg in the hopes of getting a reaction and some informations. "Don't worry little bro; we won't put down your efforts. T'was well done for a first try. You'll get the hang of it as you get older, wiser and better looking like me..." he finished with a smarmy smirk aimed at the youngest boy.

The collective groan of disbelief around the table was loud, accompanied by Alan's exaggerated eye roll and head shake. Did Virgil think he was 4 years old again? That trick hadn't worked on him in ages! Of all the Tracy brothers, he wasn't the sharpest but had inherited more stability from their mother's side of things so verbal baiting like that had actually stopped working a few years back.

"Oy! I go to boarding school a few months a year and you think I regress back to toddlerhood? Obviously you guys need to revise the oxygen tanks in your 'birds cuz you all act like you're gassed!" the kid proclaimed as he extended an arm to grab another BLT sandwich from the serving platter. Kayo sputtered in her glass of apple juice at his words before elbowing him playfully; she just knew he timed that with her taking a gulp so he could see her try to laugh and swallow at the same time. Brat!

Virgil gave an easy smile at the brother-sister team in front of him. Their easy-going playful relationship was nice to see in action. It warmed his heart to see that at least one of the brothers had a decent chance at saving his life and sanity from what Jefferson had put them through for years. "Okay you two!" He quipped amusedly "No roughhousing at the table! Keep it for the barnyard, you animals!"

Another collective groan rose as the siblings remembered how often Ruth would yell a variant of that phrase at all hours of day and night since any activity or speech by the boys irked her to no ends. That Virg thought it would be funny to pull that out showed the young man had obviously been hit a few too many times. Maybe dad had been right? Maybe he did think with his ass? That could explain so much...

Tanusha hid her face in her hands, shaking her head in disappointment that Virgil could pull such a lame joke and expect to get away with it unscathed. Idiot brother! She loved him dearly but still, didn't he think before opening his pie-hole? Looking at the spasming boy to her right, she extended a hand to pound on Ally's back to help him with the laughter hiccups that his brother's bad humor had caused to erupt. Looking around the table she saw Gordon leaned back into his chair, face in the air with his eyes closed in utter defeat. John was glaring at Virgil for all he was worth but having no effects on the bigger, more athletic male. Scott had his elbows on the tabletop, hiding his face in his hands, partially muffling the fake sobs of despair he was making.

Virgil him, was quite happy with the results. Everybody around had reset their attitude following his seemingly ill-timed, badly delivered quip, just as he had hoped. Taking another tuna sandwich from the serving tray, he mentally patted his own back. Being born into the family, he knew well that the **Tracy Temper** was quick to ignite but also rather fast to burn out. You just had to give the person a distraction or another subject to direct their ire away from your own mistakes. Alan wasn't immune from this as it was fundamental to all five siblings given how they were raised.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Alan sat back in his chair, arms loosely crossed while Tanusha was gently rubbing his shoulders and neck, giving him the support he needed to be at peace again. The young man knew he was prickly about his corporate endeavors but after years of being put down by Jeff and Ruth, he had developed some nasty defensive reflexes where his business practices were concerned. That, and the technologies created by Hiram were not actually for public consumption. Not this century, at least.

Sighing loudly, the adolescent made a face at his siblings who suddenly became much more attentive towards him. All four could just smell the juicy gossip in the air around the room and couldn't help but to react like dogs after a fresh piece of red steak. Damn! Those guys needed themselves a life and quick or they'd never leave their poor little brother alone in peace.

"Fine, you jerks! I'll talk!" and the kid was promptly silenced by the cheers of his family, including Scott and John who were shaking hands behind Virgil's back over a job well done at getting the Sprout to open up. Glaring venomously at the effusive relatives, the boy grumped a few unflattering comments under his breath before slapping the table to get some order in the room. "Now then, since the sideshows are done... As to my erstwhile brother's interrogations about my capacity to produce large complex stuff faster than THI... The answer is this; **trust Hiram, he won't let me down**."

There was a heavy, minute long silence as the four older boys glared at Ally with matching squinted eyes, pursed lips, crossed arms and tapping right foot as if they had practiced ' _synchronized sibling disapproval_ ' just for such occasions. Kayo was heard to giggle as she tried desperately to maintain some semblance of seriousness. Strangely enough, having the four synchronous glares turn her way only made her laugh harder until she was holding her ribs because it hurt to spasm so much. Alan's shit-eating grin by her side was not making any beneficial contributions at all towards having the four male siblings any happier either. If the little Allie-Gator wanted to play rough, the Tracy brothers would have to get the pliers to pull out the facts from him like a dentist going after a bad tooth. He would talk or they would hound him until he did, by hook or by crook!

"Good one, bro! Now give! What's the matter between you and Brains? I know he's a brain with a pair of legs on him but what could he come up with that's so revolutionary that you'd end up the big man in the house like that?" Virgil asked between bites in another sandwich. Without Jeff or Ruth around, his appetite was coming back with a vengeance and he needed all the calories and nutrients he could grab to hasten healing his injuries. He couldn't help his family with their situations if he wasn't in shape.

With the brothers' peacemaker having yet again poked the smirking youngest, the other siblings were happy to give it a minute or two to gauge whether the intervention bore fruit. If not, they would need to get creative cuz the smarmy little git wan'nt giving it up. How could he hold back such juicy gossip from his brothers? That was right nasty of him, t'was!

Tanusha leaned over, clasping both of Alan's hands between hers, trying to comfort him. She knew the subject of his company and technical prowess was a sore point with his family as everybody had followed the lead given out by Jefferson who preached that Alan was just an idiotic troublemaker without any notable capacities of mind or body. Every time he tried to tell his older siblings about his technological accomplishments with his locking mechanisms or other homesteading apparatuses he was pushed back with contempt or shoved off violently. With the passing years, Alan had learned to never speak out loud of his science, know-how or the network of contacts and clients he had. He certainly never spoke of his independent money and financial holdings in any Tracy-owned house or corporate building lest Jeff explode in rage at what he considered an affront to his power and manly fatherliness.

It took a few minutes of gentle reassurance by Kayo for Alan to think things through. Their two main oppressors were both dead with the other pair soon to follow at the hands of their older ally. The pink-clad error of humanity had been de-clawed and neutered socially, politically and legally. She no longer had any standing in the lives of any Tracy sibling as the lawyers for ASET had seen to destroying her pretensions of being their godmother and legal guardian before their fatidic meeting three days ago. She would never again stain their homes with her presence. Now though, he had to figure out just how much he wanted to reveal to the others about all his companies, holdings and recent activities to secure their collective safety.

The youngest Tracy son bent forward in his chair, putting his elbows on the table so he could place his face in his hands, that way he could move his fingers on both sides to massage his temples to ward off the stress headache he could feel forming behind his eyes. At this point, a fulgurating migraine was the last thing he needed so he asked Tanu something in Thai speech, knowing his other siblings didn't speak the tongue. Strangely enough, not even John who was the most cosmopolitan of the siblings had ever made any attempts to learn the dialect despite having three native speakers in the house available to teach them.

Tanusha stood and bent over Alan, laying a gentle kiss on the nape of his neck in sympathy then walked away down the corridor that led to the family's bedrooms leaving him to the stunned looks of his family. Poor guys; they still couldn't believe that the youngest had gotten himself into a relationship with the young woman they all considered a good friend, better sister and very desirable to boot. The older brothers for their part were worrying again as was their natural habit whenever one of them acted out of character or seemed less than pristinely healthy. Virgil was frowning, a sure sign that the smother-hen was about to cluck himself into a bother which was stopped only by Kayo coming back at a light jog with a small black satchel clutched to her side as she moved.

"Here you go Dear-heart; med-kit delivered at your door as advertised!" the young woman said in gentle playfulness as she placed the synthetic canvas satchel on the table in front of her anxious boyfriend. The younger teen nodded his thanks silently as he reached over to grab the pitcher for a refill of iced water to wash down the pills to come. After a long gulp of soothing cold water, the blue-skinned youth rifled through his bag for the desired medications. Having found the Gravol and Advil bottles, he took out one of each then put the bottles back into the satchel for safe keeping. As he swallowed the meds and water, Virgil gave him a look of sympathy mixed with annoyance and determination to get answers. Who knew a 21 year-old guy could be so expressive all at once? It must be that artistic temperament of his coming out...

Scott didn't say anything and signaled the others to hold their peace. Headache meds weren't the end of the world and the kid was 14 years old; plenty mature enough to decide for himself if he could stay with those over-the-counter pills or ask for clinical strength help with his ailment. Besides, with all the stress, anxiety, tensions and violence of the last 24 hours, Scooter wasn't surprised to see Ally manifest his mental exhaustion by a migraine, nausea or other superficial symptoms. They really needed answers but if it got Alan sick then he'd tell people to back off and let the little guy recover before they went digging again.

Alan spent about ten minutes in silent repose, sitting straight on his chair but relaxed, hands on his lap, eyes closed and his face showing the blandest, most neutral expression they ever saw on him to date. When Kayo began to gently massage his upper back, shoulders and nape, his visage softened into a more restful expression as the stress and anguish slowly bled out of him. After a good ten minutes of silent caring ministrations, the blue boy raised his weary face towards his siblings, mind made up about what he had to say next. In order to have peace and trust amongst them, someone needed to make an example and as he had barged into **their** **home** ( _never his_ ) with armed men, then it was his burden to set the first position of maturity and trustworthiness.

Taking a deep steadying breath, Alan spoke the explanation the were waiting on. "It's all about using and optimizing existing tech, making something good even better. And then, with Hiram's help, making it extraordinary. For now at least; in a century it will probably be commonplace." The adolescent reached behind his neck to gently ghost his fingertips over Tanu's hand as she kept up her gentle soothing massage of his nape and scalp. "You guys remember HOW exactly Hiram built all the massive facilities around the island? The construction bots that are the ancestors of MAX? Well those big, burly and cumbersome things were just the beginning. Hiram has spent the last decade refining the concepts, integrating more and better tools but also trying to resolve a specific problem."

"What problem?" asked Gordon. "Those bots are damned efficient and can built pretty much anything we want done. Right quick about it too!"

Alan smiled honestly at the question; Gords wasn't the most technically inclined in the brood but he was still interested in the many sciences and a quick study at everything he touched. "In order for the robots to be able to finish a room from A to Z, they need a set blueprint along stacks of pre-made manufactured parts. That severely limits the scheduling of projects as you are dependent on both the suppliers and the deliveries getting to the project site. Then also, not all factories have the tech level needed to supply THI or IR with those tools, machines or even just basic spare parts that you guys take for granted in your systems."

Ally took a sip of iced water then held the cool wet glass in both hands, fiddling with it absentmindedly as he spoke. "Plus the bots, even MAX, are not all that bright, not able to go beyond basic analytics and reporting. They don't actually imagine or plan anything by themselves so its extremely limiting in what you can ask any of them to produce. If you don't have an architect, engineer or chemist to produce the plans or molecular schematics then the bots will wait for verbal commands which means you have to escort them and control them like trained dogs all the time. The two big hurdles to clear were that: decisional autonomy in-project and using local materials as they are found to become free from external manufacturing requirements."

Virgil gave his younger brother the gimlet eye. "Eh man, I know Brains is good, but was he THAT good that he managed to bypass all those problems at once? And have it functional enough to run a production line already? Even with all the miracles that were done to lift IR off the drawing board, this is a lot to take in." The biggest sibling leaned backwards in his chair, analyzing what it could mean if such technology and know-how was indeed mature for usage. It gave him chills down his spine as he tried to line up all the effects and consequences on society, including construction jobs, tech R&D and even, potentially, medicinal processes.

John was paler than usual as he gazed unseeing at a point between Alan and Tanusha, his mind aflame and overloaded with possibilities he didn't understand fully and didn't really want to contemplate. The NASA astronautics training plus the extra paramedic and rescue formation for IR meant he had the capacity to see the massive potential for soil reclamation, decontamination, terraforming and salvaging damaged or failing structures. They would even be able to build brand new systems on far away places with just a series of commands sent to the distant robots who would execute the orders regardless of risks or complexity. Colonizing foreign worlds would never again be as risky, or slow, as the first Lunar Base and Mars Village had been for their father's contemporaries. Even here on Earth, the ramifications were wildly beyond any imagining.

Scott felt a cold spectral hand slowly slide its fingertips down his spine, chilling him to the bones. This was the worse nightmare of any soldier, rescuer and Sci-Fi nerd out there. " **Nanobots.** " Scooter spoke softly, as if scared that saying it out loud would make it manifest in front of them. "Hiram has managed to create a **nanobot swarm.** He made the nanites autonomous enough to analyze, plan a solution then select raw matter from the locality to reshape it to parts then connect and light up those systems as they are completed, even the OS programming and apps." Looking at his kid brother with wide scared eyes, silently imploring him to say it wasn't so, that reality wasn't about to go sideways and fracture to pieces like this.

Alan nodded his head slowly to avoid giving his headache the impetus to fully activate. "Hiram managed the greatest dream, and worse nightmare, of every technologist since the first writings of Jules Verne about machines that can draw and build new improved versions of themselves 200 years ago. Brains managed to make this real. All the futurologists, all the tech gurus, all the cybernetologists on all the Earth... None could really foresee the full majesty of this accomplishment. Or the truly horrendous soul warping terror that it can become." The blue-skinned youth whispered.

Kayo held Ally by both shoulders in a sideways hug, trying to give him comfort even though she herself was far from completely unafraid in the situation. She confirmed for the Tracy brothers what they had determined for themselves. "Yes, Brains managed all that. He began by making the existing builder-bots smarter, more independent, quicker to analyze data and update the plan or project for the new circumstances and then, about two years ago, he had a breakthrough. He finally managed, with remote help from Fermat, Alan and myself, to create a program complex enough and complete enough to let the bots perceive reality in terms of resources and usefulness, in terms of refining, transformation and manufacturing processes to make spare parts and then assemble those into devices then into a finished project. It was after that event that Brains worked on miniaturizing the robots until he could have them at multiple sizes, from the normal car-sized builder-bots down to microscopic level but still carrying the incredibly complex AI program we had birthed."

Alan looked at his brothers with an empty, forlorn stare that saw things besides this reality, out of their understanding, out of their normal human perceptions, as he spoke. "We have achieved godhood, at long last. The capacity to take material and energetic reality in our hand to reshape it into an infinity of other raw materials, atoms, molecules, compounds, alloys... And then forcibly smith these into tools, then parts, then machines and vehicles... All by just wishing it through the electronic ether so that the innumerable hordes of cybernetic worshipers will toil and slave away silently and invisibly until the finished product emerges for our use and pleasure. Like the gods of ancient Greece, Rome or India..."

Silence was his answer. After such a revelation, what could you possibly say?

 **Shoring up the boys**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – rescue theme)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 14:11pm**

 **Tracy Island; Family infirmary**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

The beginning of the afternoon saw yet again the Tracy siblings laid out in the comfortable beds of their familial infirmary. Firstly, they all needed a new round of pain medication for the injuries that would still linger for a long time to come, then there was this strange new epidemic of migraine headaches going around.

We wonder why? Revelations overload, perhaps?

Alan may not have suffered from a busted butt this time around, but he needed the surgical site on his throat verified in & out so he was actually put under general anesthesia for the process. Having a wired camera inserted inside your throat is NOT a pleasant experience; nobody wants to feel THAT so the IV drug and its blissful dreamless sleep was welcomed by the young man. Especially since it meant he couldn't hear the medics joke about his _blueberry addiction_ or _fandom for the Smurfs_.

Kayo would pay for this. He didn't know how or when, but she would.

Said playful girlfriend, blissfully unaware of her impending Doom, was sitting on a small wheeled pivoting stool normally reserved for one of the assisting nurses during surgery. This was appropriate since her task at present was to hold Alan's hand, keeping him company and anchoring him emotionally to insure his calmness during the procedure. Even once he slept, she held his hand, gently squeezing or rubbing his appendage to give him the most positive emotion she could manage to impart.

Thankfully the doctor had good news: the internal segments of the trachea, Adam's apple and voice box were healing as foreseen. There would be a very slight change in the tones and timbre of Alan's voice, somewhere around 2 to 4% variance, but nothing life threatening. He certainly wouldn't become mute anytime soon, if he just took care of himself and avoided extreme climates or vocally strenuous activities for about six months to a year. That meant having a helmet or at least a face-mask on hand at all times to shield his face, mouth and airways in case the climate turned harsh or toxic like inside the diverse manufactures he might visit. The doctor added in hushed fearful tones "Don't forget that we now have the option of **nano-fluid surgery**. If he wants to, we could rebuild the inside of his throat and vocal chords without much effort or pain on his part and have him at 100% of the original before the end of the official school vacations." Such technologies and acts were just simply not spoken of in less than reverent tones. The Universe would take offense and send something to show them that they were still quite far from penultimate, no matter how capable and adaptable the nanite swarm was.

Tanusha hummed noncommittally as she gently carded her fingers through the short blond hair of her sleeping boyfriend. Her thumb ghosted over his eyebrow in a discrete gesture of affection that he seemed to feel if the reflexive scrunching of his nose was any indication. "Finally" she sighed, "We have some good news to share". Smiling at her man's relaxed, youthful face, the young woman stood, stretched out her whole body then walked out toward the convalescence room to tell the others.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Kayo walked in just as Scott, who was lying on his stomach with his arms wrapped around the pillow stuffed under his upper chest, was pulling Virgil's leg verbally with quite a lot of gusto for a poor damaged boy.

 **Snort!**

It was the T2 pilot's turn to be pantless for a rub down of unguent to his injured areas. The same female medic as this morning was tending to the young men's needs with her usual humor. Poor Virg didn't stand a chance against her, but neither did any of the others and by the persisting blush on Scooter's face, she had already gotten to him. Damn! Tanu wanted to see that! Oh, well! That's what the security cameras were for; she would watch the recording with Alan, Fermat and the other siblings when they had movie night at the end of the week. That would be good clean family fun for all! _Eh, eh eh!_

Wearing a truly magnificent shit-eating grin, Kayo accosted Virgil's bed and poked his foot brattily, teasing the gentle caring artist good and hard. "So, brother of mine... Looking good, I can see!" she opened with, eliciting a groan of misery from the _well positioned_ young adult. The spiritual sister continued with much background laughter from the other three boys: "Hawww, Virgee... You did'na haff ta get all purrrty for me like that..." Tanu cooed impishly in a mock redneck drawl. "I like you just your natural color without any of that _red makeup_ you put all over your cheeks... Not to mention _those_ cheeks aren't the ones people usually put makeup on! Unless its a full-body blush cuz you're so emotional at me seeing the _better side of you_?" she ribbed playfully at the embarrassed athletic male.

Poor, _radiantly blushing_ Virgil wanted to die; or at least crawl into a hole and be forgotten.

First off, he was butt-naked on the bed with the _less interesting facets of his personality_ exposed for all to see. Secondly, his brothers, backstabbing little curs the lot of them, were in point of fact taking verbal pot shots at his poor beleaguered ass like it was going out of fashion at sundown. Just you wait till it was their turn! Oh, yeah... He'd already razzed out Scooter just a tick ago when Mirabelle was creamin' him up... Maybe it was fair turnabout? Of course not! He was a paragon of empathy, gentleness and effusive caring love to all around! He'd NEVER josh around about his siblings' less than presentable situations while a doctor was tending them. Right nasty and unprofessional of himself as a licensed paramedic that would be!

Didn't actually keep him from doing it though; just ask the other guys about it.

Which was probably why Scott, John and Gordon all thought it was fair play to laugh at him while he got to _enjoy_ the tender ministrations of the female medic upon his bruised _alter ego_. And John's ' _moon_ ' jokes still weren't any better now than this morning at wake up. Man, was that boy in need of a new repertoire! So were the others come to think of it. And now Kayo was getting into it. And she saw his bare ass! Not that he was ashamed of his body shape as such, but he was still very much injured and sporting discolored purple-&-black splotches of deep bruising, and not particularly mobile either.

This was not how he would have liked to make an ' _impression_ ' on their resident Best Female Friend.

Added to that, the woman doctor may, perhaps, depending on opinions, have spent a mite more time than strictly necessary on the rather sculptural muscle masses of the athletic young pilot, much to the amusement of his siblings. Her playful smirk as she _very gently_ massaged the topical analgesic cream into the injured areas had quite the hilarious effect on the brothers who saw through her pretend lewdness act easily. Although, if pressed the least little bit, she would admit openly that the Tracy men were all built very well. " _From a purely medical point of view, of course._ Not that appreciating the human form was in any way a bad thing. As an **exposed artist** who **showed off** many ' _objects d'art'_ , Virgil should support me in this opinion, shouldn't he?" Mirabelle quipped playfully.

The poor boy pulled his pillow over his head as he wanted to hide under it for the rest of the week. Or until the fluorescent blush abated from his incandescent face. Did she HAVE to ask that damned question out loud? And how could he answer without _making an ass_ of himself? **Crud!** Wrong choice of expression! He was becoming as lame as John in his old age!

After finishing with the family's lumberjack, nicknamed so because he kept wearing those red checkered flannel shirt & blue jeans combo of his, the doctor helped him put his clothing back to rights and even fluffed the bed sheets to better spread them over his prone form. Poor Virg, emerged from beneath the pillow again, made a congested face ( _a sulky pout_ ) which was definitely NOT a pout at his adult age of 21 ( _yes it was_ ) when he saw his brothers laugh at him again. He'd get them back, the whole lot! Just wait t'ill t'was him who served as medic to heal their injuries; there'd be justice then!

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Mirabelle exchanged smirks with Tanusha as she grabbed a surprised Gordon by the arm, very carefully guiding him to the free bed next to his massive brother. The adolescent pilot's protests were for naught as Kayo grabbed his other arm to help her colleague position the young male next to his predestined bed so his own numerous and grave injuries could get a once over. Gords was protesting weakly as the mock glare from his sister had been enough to quell any thoughts of escaping the infirmary, especially since his injuries were in fact very much grave and in dire need of medical supervision.

Doctor Ahnnheuser started by telling Gordy to take off completely his pajama shirt so she could inspect the long lash marks around his backside and thighs that climbed up high enough to mar around the kidneys and flanks. They were still badly infected and the small constant seepage of puss escaping from the edges of the scabs had been absorbed by the clothing. After several long minutes of applying topical antiseptic / analgesic unguent and giving him a booster shot of antibiotics, she nodded in approval at the sight of the finished job. "You have to keep these at open air as much as possible." she told the young man. "If we put bandages or compresses it will keep the secretions inside the injured area so the bacterium will keep on being housed and fed in a warm wet environment which is what they need to keep coming back against your immune system. Let the lesions air-dry as much as possible even if they still leak."

The doctor smirked at the teenager's sudden fluorescent blush at her prognosis. Chuckling softly at his discomfort she explained what she meant. "Given the worst injuries and infections are around the less photogenic part of your... Personality?... Character?... You should simply not put on any underwear and put on ultra-loose surf shorts or basketball shorts. Anything wide, loose and not touching or blocking air flow around the skin lesions to allow the seepage to happen. If you want to be naked at night, that would actually help. I will set you up with a pile of medical gowns so you can be at ease until you reach our clinic for sustained treatment."

Gently tracing the contour of the deepest, most worrying lesion above the waistline which had been surgically stitched last night, she continued; "I know you need to float in the pool as much as possible to alleviate the pain in your legs and back but that's not the same wetness as sweat, body oils and puss trapped by tight clothing. The small bit of chlorine in the water will actually help fight off bacterial growth so it won't hinder your recovery in the least. That it helps manage your muscle and tendon pains without doping you out of your wits is certainly a benefit you can't pass on."

The medic moved to inspect the suicide scars at his wrists, admiring the results of Hiram's work as she kept giving instructions: "As long as you dry off completely the moment you leave the pool water, you would actually help your healing by taking at least three good hour-long soaks every day. However! Make certain to not take narcotics or barbiturates of any sorts for at least one full hour before you enter the pool. You need to adapt to the effects of the drugs before going in the water. Don't EVER take the medications we prescribe you on an empty stomach as they could cause ulcers or react too strongly and make you dizzy. Keep a bottle of sports drink or _clinical hydration_ at hand with a few dry snacks like oatmeal cookies or rice cakes to help stabilize your biology if you feel faint or have a hunger spike. And NEVER swim alone in case you get a surprise cramp, doze off or have a bad reaction to the meds. This of course means no swimming in open waters that have tides, currents and variable climate patterns like the sea or a lake. And NO operation of heavy machinery or hand-held power tools for the next two weeks either, until we clear you for physical efforts."

Mirabelle looked at Gordon's eyes, making certain her movements were slow and always in his field of vision so she didn't startle him. She had been told how often both his father and grandmother had slapped him in the face without warning or reason. She didn't want him to have a flashback or fearful reflex due to not seeing or misunderstanding her gestures. Her examination of his eyes showed pupils they were reactive but dilated just a bit slowly. It was still well within parameters though, due to his already having several clinical strength meds in his bloodstream since last night.

With all signs of infection and injury to the upper body diagnosed and charted, she motioned for the young man to put back his shirt then lie face down on the bed with the pillow under his upper chest to help stabilize his position. It was time to examine his lower anatomy since he was damaged worse than Virgil in those areas. Scott wasn't much better off than either of them, in all honesty.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Tanusha had moved away from Gordon, giving her teenaged friend some space to move on his own without feeling crowded in by everybody. She had seen just how jittery the 19 year old had been last night with the male doctor and soldiers walking around him. Of course, that could have been because of the weapons and their heavy-handed entry. But still, she preferred to err on the side of caution, giving the young man as much help and comfort as she could.

Backing off until her left hip touched the next bed, Kayo reached out with her left hand to give Virgil a gentle supporting squeeze on his neck, rubbing his shoulders lovingly as she kept a worried eye on the jerky, halting movements of Gordon who seemed to have equilibrium troubles as he laid himself face down on the uncovered bed for the rest of his treatment. Either he really was more profoundly damaged than the reports said or he was anxious about Mirabelle seeing him at his ' _simplest expression_ ' as the saying goes.

Virg groaned in pleasure from the back rub; it had been a long while since somebody in this house had touched him without causing pain or injuries. The last time he got a decent hug that felt natural and pleasant was two months ago when he did the monthly cargo run to resupply T5 just before he was sidelined from flying due to his own injuries and meds. John always was such a good steady hugger. And he was two years older so it actually felt like a grown-up cared for and loved him kindly like he still needed to feel at his young age of 21.

Tanusha unconsciously moved her left hand along Virgil's shoulders as she watched like a hawk over the examination and treatment of Gordon. She had seen the suicide scars last night and again just minutes ago, realizing just how precarious the young pilot's mental state was. Lips pursed and brow furrowed in anger, Kayo thought glumly that Jefferson and Ruth had both died far too kind deaths compared to the years of ceaseless pain and humiliations they had inflicted on their children. It really was too bad that there were limits to what Hiram could accomplish; bringing back the bastards to punish them in the manner they really deserved would have been very satisfying for her and her brothers.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Gordy was now laying face-down in the bed, arms tightly clenched around the pillow as the doctor lowered his pajama pants all the way to his calves to see the damaged areas. Mirabelle's face assumed a closed off look as she forcefully shoved all her emotions behind an airtight mask to keep from reacting to what she saw. The poor teenaged aquanaut had sections of his buttocks and thighs that were so deeply bruised that they were colored completely purple and black by all the blood that had congealed inside the soft tissues due to the ruptured capillaries that were no longer capable of healing on their own without external intervention. Some of those bruises were actually lining epidermal lesions, whip marks, that were deep, inflamed, infected messes that slowly suppurated burning hot hematic fluids and puss. The worrisome blackness had moved upwards to the region around the kidneys following the path of several skin lesions. This discoloration looked like dermatic necrosis or even the _beginning stages_ of **gangrene** , indicating that the skin and underlying tissues were in fact dying off because his natural regeneration was no longer sufficient, if it still worked at all.

If it weren't for some very important medical innovations in the fields of sports medicine for flesh injuries and soft tissue ecchymosis, Mirabelle would have to recommend emergency hospitalization while fearing for his survival. At any standard hospital in the USA or Europe, the young man would face several months of intramuscular and epidermal reconstructive surgeries with copious amounts of narcotics and several days spent in a chemically induced coma to allow for the procedures to be done. Then, if he survived, he would be greatly diminished, facing long months of physiotherapy and only partial leg mobility, if any at all. Hopefully, some of their ' _Hackenbacker Miracles_ ' could reverse the damages and keep the poor lad organically functional.

No, this wasn't an easy case by any stretch of the imagination.

How the fuck could Jeff Tracy do this to his boys? Didn't he see what was happening? From what Mirabelle heard since last night, the man and his bitch mother usually had the young people take off their pants and underwear then bend over the closest piece of furniture at hand to keep them in place while applying the beatings. Sometimes the man forced them down to the floor then stepped on the back of their neck to keep them in a position of ritual submission to satisfy his need to see physically that he was as big and mighty as he believed he was while he beat them bloody.

Most were young adults in their 20's by now! Two had been in the Air Force and NASA! Weren't they passed the age when punishments of that type were no longer **functional** , let alone **appropriate**? How about **illegal** , even? Had the two geriatric bastards been so blinded by rage or just so stupid they didn't realize the depth of damage they did? How could anyone see the state Gordon, Virgil and Scoot were in then think that these boy didn't absolutely need a reprieve or some form of medical help? But then again, if Jefferson hadn't threatened to kill or handicap Alan, the older ones would never had endured this lifestyle for so long...

 **Monsters, the both of them!**

Turning to her employer's executive officer slash girlfriend, she asked "Kayo, could you help me with moving the portable scanner? I need fresh imagery of the subdural zones and muscle masses beneath his injuries to make a comprehensive diagnostic." At the young Thai woman's interrogative look, she answered out loud "Yes; it is as bad as it looks and possibly worse. He urgently needs admission to a hospital despite everything we are doing for him. It isn't enough anymore; without surgically doing deep-muscle, vein and nerve repairs he will lose the legs and it could even not stop there. As of now, his situation is listed critical and I will be placing the calls to med-evac him back to ASET's HQ in Kansas. It's the only place that I am confidant we have the necessary devices and people to save him while granting him basic quality of life sufficient for him to want to stay alive."

As the medic's professional opinion settled on the room like a funeral pall, the two women silently went to fetch the rolling machine so the exam could proceed. John walked to Gordo's bed and laid a supporting hand on his nape, letting it rest there so what little body heat he had could seep into his brother to impart a comforting presence. Nobody said anything when they heard the quiet whimpers of fear and sniffling of stifled weeping the poor damaged adolescent couldn't keep inside anymore.

In a case like this, silence was the only acceptable response. The remaining three siblings had no choice and were powerless against the reality they faced. The doctor working for their littlest Allie had just told them that Gordon had a strong chance he could die, loose his legs entirely or else have significant diminishing of muscle strength, motion and nerve reaction from the waist down to the point of being wheelchair-bound for life. What the fuck could they say to answer that?

 **Sprouting up to the task**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – rescue theme)_

 **Friday 25th of June, 2060; 18:00pm**

 **Tracy Island; Family infirmary**

 **North of the Australian coastline**

Alan Sheppard Evans Tracy stood in the doorway between the dormitory and the rolling equipment storage closets, dressed in black and gray cargo pants, T-shirt and body armor. He even put his weapons back on, much to the discomfort of his siblings. Tanusha standing by his side dressed again in her combat flight suit with weaponry and helmet clipped to her belt wasn't helping the poor boys get over the revelations of the day. Gordon's injuries and deathly condition would haunt them for the rest of their lives, all of them.

Under the watchful gaze of Mirabelle Ahnnheuser, a pair of tall muscular orderlies were demonstrating great gentleness as they manually lifted Gordon from the hospital bed and moved him into a mobile life-support cell. The youthful aquanaut pilot of T4 would be kept on his stomach from now on, until all the injuries were passed the point of being threats to his life or mobility. At the insistence of Alan's medical personnel, several intravenous lines had been inserted directly into the damaged zones to feed medications and hydration since so many of his veins were too destroyed to allow blood flow anymore.

The gangrene was set in far further and deeper than even their negative estimates had planned for.

The solution had been spoken by the still blue-skinned 14 year old ' _overlord_ ' that took over their lands, vehicles and lives without so much as a " _By your Leave_ ". Gordon would be made to undergo **nano-fluid surgery** at the hands of Hiram and Fermat Hackenbacker directly upon reaching their home base in Kansas City, Kansas State, USA. The father and son tandem had left the camouflaged battleship ' _Pack Mule_ ' in a Mach 20 enabled hyper-jet similar to Thunderbird-1 except it was shaped like a conventional horizontal airplane rather than a cylindrical rocket ship. The two technical prodigies would have arrived at ASET's HQ by now and have the surgical theater and convalescence rooms readied long before the rest of the team came in.

Because of Gordon's badly damaged veins and severely limited blood flow, they could not take the risk of taking him ahead in a mach-speed vehicle lest he develop blood clots that would cause the loss of limbs or even lodge in the brain and kill him. That meant they were all traveling together via the great heavily armed airboat ' _Domus Amato_ ', Alan's personal flagship. Only their little Sprout could have the twisted sense of humor to name a bloody battleship ' _The Loving Home_ '. Scooter thought the older siblings really needed to have a talk with that kid about _his attitude_... However, seeing the state of their health and minds, any such conversation would have to be put off to much, much later.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB** }

It was now 18:42pm as the yellow IR hover sleds appropriated by the ASET soldiers carrying the wounded Tracy siblings emerged from the underground utilities tunnel through the secret blast doors and flew in a straight line through the publicly visible hangar that normally housed the family's jets, service trucks and forklifts. These massive steel edifices were the public façade created specifically to be seen and visited by guests and government officials not ' _in the know_ ' about IR's activities. The landing strip, hangars and workshops had been planned for serving as the official reception point for the contractors and deliveries when they had no choice but to buy stuff from outside their own network of _IR-vetted_ suppliers.

Right now, their father's habit of making vast public displays of high tech and obnoxious familial wealth to hide his secrets behind was actually helping them for once. The large open area created by the actual runway and the roads around the hangar complex was wide enough for the _Domus Amato_ to land fully and open her bow's loading ramp so the ground vehicles could transit easily. The light from the low hanging Sun cast nasty fearsome shadows all around the great flying ship, worsened by the eight vertical propellers at the ends of their long struts and multiple gunnery emplacements. All these projections away from the main hull contributed to spread a virtual forest of shades and dark spots that gave the area a hundred feet around the ship a feeling of dreariness and oppression.

The Tracy's didn't have much time for contemplation or emoting as the hover sleds zipped through the hangar then the short roadway and up the armored ramp into the belly of the flying monster that had undone their lives and illusions last night. Any chance this was a nightmare they would wake from were deader than Jefferson and Ruth. The crowd of soldiers in body armor milling around ferrying equipments and materials from out of the dead carcass of their old home's dependencies certainly didn't leave them any ambiguities about the state of things. The boys were not afforded any chance to comment anything as they chocked when they flew under the overhanging guns of the bow turrets and then the shock of seeing more structurally in-built defensive turrets inside the ship's hangar to repel boarders finally drove into their minds that the little Sprout they knew was gone for good.

As the sleds parked on the hangar's central runway that was delimited by yellow paint lines and LED's integrated into the deck grates, the siblings were again stunned by the level of authority and respect afforded their youngest sibling. Four soldiers with rank patches and officer's caps walked forward and saluted formally the 14 year old as if he were the President of the USA coming aboard Marine-1 for an official tour. They began to give their reports to their leader while the other siblings were offloaded from the sleds and made to follow doctor Ahnnheuser through a large doorway. Since they were not asked their opinions, the young men were whisked up directly into the bowels of the ship to the infirmary to be set up for several hours of transport.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

At this point, John was the only Tracy son who was not considered ' _walking wounded_ ' or in fear of his immediate survival. This meant he could get dressed a bit more normally with his own things and walk around the ship as long as he minded the instructions from his **escort** , a young female soldier in her late twenties who said she had been hired by ASET's security division right out of the US Air Force Academy when she didn't make the cut for officer's bars. If she had been denied promotion on regulatory or justified cause, Alan would have never even looked at her. She was flunked out when she publicly took a positive, accepting position on the rights of gays and transgender persons in the armed services. Given three of the trainers were publicly avowed fundamentalist protestant christians who tried to use their positions to preach their hatred, it was bound to end badly for the young cadet. John sympathized with her a lot; he'd heard similar stories from people in NASA during the month of internship he had done at the ISS. Back then, there had been a fanatic in the higher management of NASA that wanted to restrict astronaut training and access to the ISS only to those who were recommended by a priest who had overseen all their primary, secondary and university education in private religious schools. The publicly stated goal was to make certain that only those truly ' _pure and virginal of body and mind_ ' could reach God in his mystical cloud paradise to receive his mysteries. Last John had heard, the government had finally gotten rid of him after some big-name families saw their female members be denied entry to the NASA programs because they were women, amongst a slew of other sins he reproached them.

Stupid _idjiot_ god-mongers! Couldn't they stop poisoning everybody's lives at some point?

Walking around the unknown and frankly menacing flying boat with an assault rifle toting escort was a novelty for the young astronaut since he had been raised to be very humble and low-key. Then again, his father forced him to be humble and have no publicly visible profile while he himself strutted around like a peacock in heat with his stinking cigars and overly expensive French cognac. Ruminating darkly about the disparities between what was said and what was lived, the young adult didn't realize that he had instinctively sought out the highest position on the ship to be closer to the sky and the stars.

The twenty-three years old male opened a heavy armored door and was rewarded with the feel of cool fresh evening air as he walked out on the main deck of the ship. Advancing out fully on the flat deck, he saw that he had emerged from the side of the main structure set in the middle of the surface. To the front he could see the squarish form of the bow turret and a pair of secondary turrets. The most impressive features by far were the humongous vertical engines with the 50 foot long blades slowly rotating as they began to process through the power-up sequence. The struts connecting the motors to the main hull looked like the flying buttresses on a medieval cathedral with belfries at the end of each, especially since they were wide enough to have a covered walkway from the main deck to the engine housing on each for easy and safe access to do repairs in flight. The overall visual effect was truly awe-inspiring for a piece of machinery; and for a guy who lived with and flew the Thunderbirds, John was kinda hard to impress when big machines were concerned.

The blond walked to the tip of the bow, leaning against the balustrade near the massive weapons turret that was several times the size of a tank's turret. It was big enough that several brawny men the size of Virgil in body armor could walk inside and work the systems manually if the computers and hydraulics failed. Feeling a bit of morbid curiosity, the young pilot asked the silent soldier at his side "What are those things? And what would you need them for on a civilian ship?"

The woman gazed at John's oddly colored but incredibly cute aqua eyes with her own curiosity. There had been rumors about the unhealthy, damaging events inside the Tracy Villa from the moment she was hired by ASET a year ago. It wasn't even particularly _hidden_ if you worked in certain departments or besides specific people whose jobs were to remotely watch and record the happenings of the Tracy compound for use in court or blackmail against Jefferson. She, like all her colleagues, had a lot of trouble conciliating the image presented by the kind, polite young man in front of her with the truth she had seen with her own eyes in the last several months since the attempted murder on her employer.

Deciding to stay in the ' _here and now_ ', the ensign answered her guest; "The principal weapon is a 6 inch naval rifle shooting smart munitions out of four automated 15 shells hoppers. These two side guns are standard naval 25mm auto-cannons with 20,000 trace blast-shells on belt feed. These two barrels there are actually gas & liquid pneumatic lances to fight fires or disperse decontaminants. Those are omni-directional searchlights with variable spectrum. And finally, these two are wired tactical magnetic grapnels like your Thunderbirds have. As for what we need the lot for... Lets just say that in the year I have worked for ASET, I have seen a lot of corporate espionage and two attempts to kidnap Mister Alan for ransom. It all ended pear-shaped all around, even though we came out on top at the time."

John had no answer for that. Kidnapping? Alan? His little Sprout had been in danger? And they were never told? **WTF, people?** He didn't have any of the necessary details right now to from a valid opinion and couldn't have made himself heard anyways as the giant rotors began to speed up, running lights coming alive and a siren calling out final boarding to the soldiers. The ' _Domus Amato_ ' was about to lift into the air, aimed for the mainland USA and, hopefully, relief for all their injuries. Giving one last forlorn look at the island that had been his familial home for the last decade of his miserable life, the pale sickly young man turned away and walked back silently inside the armored confines of the flying behemoth. Feeling a shiver of dread run down his spine as he passed the doorway, John wondered anxiously if his little brother would turn out to be the same sort of angry, violent, unstable tyrant that their dad had ended up turning into over the years. Giving up that line of thought for the dead end it was, the astronaut asked to be guided back to his siblings for the remainder of the trip.

No matter how curious he might be about the ship's design and novelties, the second Tracy son just didn't feel like it had any importance or value right now, given the states they were all in. Later, maybe, if Gordon and Virgil recovered sufficiently. Or maybe Scott would ask the questions. But not now. It wasn't important now. Maybe it never would be.

 **From the dreary mists of forsaken sorrows**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – rescue theme)_

 **Sunday 27th of June, 2060; 06:54am**

 **ASET home base; hospital building,** _private Tracy ward_

 **Kansas City, Kansas, USA**

Two days later, Scott Carpenter Tracy sat despondently in the massive window seat built into the rim of the wide bay window that made up half of the exterior wall of the common room of the ' _private Tracy ward_ ' in the fourteenth floor of a 15 storey building that didn't in any way, shape or form, look like a hospital or residential edifice from the outside. It was built and decorated specifically to look like the rectangular brickwork covering of the chemicals storage tower on a manufacturing plant. The windows were polarized and colored to be indistinct from the real brickwork and steel girders of the ' _industrial_ ' appearance that masked the structure's genuine purpose. Alan really had become a master at hiding in plain sight. Even his people were often stunned speechless by the lengths of artifice he would employ to camouflage his operations and their capacities.

Given how the US government would **react** to some of the stuff Scooter saw up to date, that may in fact be the best option; staying hidden and quiet.

From his sinfully plush cushion in the picture window, the young man could see about a quarter of the ASET compound, including two of the gigantic gardens that he knew were metal trays mounted on rails that would lower by five yards then split down the length and move apart to uncover the underground hangar for two of the **MANY** air ships his brother owned. As they sat, the huge berth doors were invisible; covered with sod, flowerbeds and a gravel walking path. The outer contour of the drydock pits were rimmed with little wooden benches, decorative fountains with drinking spouts and ornate steel park lamps to complete the feel as patches of landscaped greenery. It all looked innocent, clean, vibrant large parks with employee cafeterias at both ends so people could sit outside while they ate or enjoyed a break between meetings. And as all the rooftops of the compound were ' _green_ ' with carefully gardened food-bearing vegetation to use in their own stores, it didn't seem out of place with the company's management plan.

Except that Scott had learned from a soldier that ASET's home base was _so fucking big_ it had **EIGHT** subterranean berths for combat enabled airships, all ready to fly and serve the _will of their Lord_. The black haired pilot laid his head back against the padded frame of the window, trying desperately to hold back his tears as he tried to imagine **WHAT** had pushed his littlest brother, his precious little Ally-Gator, into building and equipping his own private armed troops. Thoughts of Jefferson's vast wealth, hoard of money, many long lists of contacts in the US military, NASA, US civilian government and British MI6 through that useless pink-clad slut made him close tight his eyes in fear as a shiver of dread ran down his back. He really hoped that none of his dad's old business partners or Air Force buddies tried any sort of retaliation against them cuz he sure didn't know where or when Alan would stop shooting back.

And he **WOULD** _shoot back_ ; that was clear to see.

From behind his closed eyelids, the young adult could see the old white christian men in blue uniforms with their caps on their heads, their arms holding stacked binders with planned operations and a bible on top as they lined the Oval Office couches, while explaining to the President the combat options against the _Heretical, disobedient child_ that dared to challenge _God, Faith and Creed_. The worshipful bastards would describe his youngest sibling as an **anti-American,** **godless,** ' _red communist_ ' extremist planning violent ' _regime change_ ' in Congress and the Oval Office. They would accuse him with the ' _traditional_ ' accusation of sapping the **morality** and **faithfulness** of America's ' _true & pure_' children.

The veteran airman could even foresee how it would go from there on. No national leader would ever tolerate the existence of such a heavily armed private force on his lands, inside his borders, if he wasn't the one controlling it. Unlike the usual small religious cults or oddball militias of white supremacists that were hard to fight because they were all spread around the brush like cockroaches hiding in an abandoned house, Alan had concentrated his people and assets inside a single huge, visible perimeter. Scott knew from painfully lived experience during his short years of military service that fighting a bunkered group was a truly harrowing, costly, destructive business, but so much more easy to plan and accomplish compared to hunting down thousands of cultists spread around the wooded parts of North America. Except his brother wasn't – _alone_ – in planning and bunkering the compound. Besides hundreds, more possibly thousands, of employees and their families, he had three **force multipliers**.

 **Tanusha and the two Hackenbacker's.**

Kayo was raw power, graceful lethality in action, and she had the built-in intellect and wisdom to guide the striking fist to maximize damage enough to stop the enemy in their tracks. All she really needed was **a purpose** to put in motion her vast potential towards a single focused goal. Scott had done enough time in the Air Force to reach his bars as lieutenant and wing leader so he had developed some skills at evaluating team members. The blue eyed pilot of T1 possessed an intimate awareness of what Kayo was worth to an organized army as a general straight-up close-quarters combatant or expert agent for infiltration, espionage and sabotage. He shivered at the potential damages she could inflict on US systems and troops if fully unleashed while being supported materially and medically by Alan and his company. If it were Hiram's tech or _CPU access modules_ she was illegally spreading around...

 **Brrrr!** Scooter shivered as instinctual fear flashed images before his mind's eye.

Hiram and Fermat Hackenbacker were a pair of nightmares in their own _classification of toxicity_ ; he pitied the poor fools who **tried** to threaten them or their loved ones. With Jefferson's threats against Fermat no longer in play after so many years of shameful suffering, then getting completely set free by Alan, Hiram would never again tolerate being placed in a situation where he wasn't capable of protecting his son. This was of course not even taking into account what the bespectacled 12 year old little bugger could do all by himself since he was shaping up into a _multi-genial super-prodigy_ just like his father, but nasty as anything Alan could put out on a bad day.

And then there was the penultimate threat in the field; the **Nano-fluid**.

If any of the principals or their nameless subordinates in charge of ASET's technological campus took offense badly enough, or got panicked enough, to contemplate the irreversible... Not even the combined forces of the entire NATO Alliance plus the GDF and police officers of the entire planet would ever be capable to stop the spread of the **reality-warping devastation** that the ' _Silver Tsunami_ ' would wreak.

The phrase ' _ecotropic attack_ ' came to mind... ' _End of Humanity_ ' was another that applied...

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Scott was startled out of his depressive, self-defeating funk by the noise of his younger but much bigger brother Virgil walking into the common room from their shared bathroom. The 21 year old was wearing only a deep sea blue fluffy towel around his waist and vigorously drying his short brown hair with another smaller towel in the same style. The sculpturally physiqued young adult had on his face the first genuinely happy smile that Scott had seen since... Last year around January, maybe? Certainly not in less than 12 months, that was sure enough.

Thunderbird 2's pilot/medic didn't see his older sibling as he turned away from the external wall, aiming his attentions towards the 'L' shaped kitchenette counter on the right side of the entry doorway for the private family suite. Draping the hand towel around his neck loosely, the family's artist hummed lightly a pop song tune as he opened the fridge to get some fruit juice and a muffin to tide him over until the siblings got together for a real, solid hot breakfast in the building's full-service restaurant. With his bottle of juice in hand, the young man pulled out of the cool box with a muffin already securely in his mouth, held there by clenched teeth, as he needed the other hand to hold the jar of cottage cheese he happened upon.

Unfortunately for our poor Virgil, the first Tracy son was rather good on his feet, what with doing Track Team in school and all the running he did almost every day when his legs allowed. Since Scooter had walked over barefooted on the thick industrial carpeting to speak with his now much healthier sibling, the surprise was rather comical to behold. The flying medic was VERY badly startled upon finding his bloody _stealth-mode_ brother at his side when he resurfaced from his fishing expedition inside the cooler. He promptly screamed in panic like a little schoolgirl that saw a rat, jumping up a foot whilst spitting his muffin half the room's length way, when he saw Scott in arm's reach.

Clutching his juice-bearing hand to his heaving bare chest while using the other to steady himself against the fridge, he ended up huffing like a bull, trying to calm his panicked breathing. The muscular youth glared at his oldest sibling malevolently for almost giving him a coronary before he reached the age of 22. Pursing his lips like the ass-hole of a hen ( _it was NOT a pout, dammit!_ ) in vengeful promises of retaliation, he put the cheese jar under the arm holding the juice then went to recover his precious, much maligned muffin. It was the carrots with nuts variety; well worth the efforts needed to recover the poor lost foodstuff from whence it fell. Giving his softly laughing companion another glare, Virg grabbed his prize, blew on it twice just in case it got dusty, then walked to the left side of the entryway towards the wooden 8 seat dining table. Since the suite had four large bedrooms with two twin beds in each, everything was measured and fitted for eight users max. With five Tracy sons, Kayo, Fermat and Hiram in his care, Virgil wasn't surprised that Alan had planned the ' _family ward_ ' in this manner.

As he sat happily on the lightly padded dining set chair, the athletic male saw the eagle-eyed attention his ' _big_ ' brother was gracing him with. Returning the favor, he realized the eldest was dressed only in the worn out loose sweat pants cut-off at mid-thighs and grungy T-shirt he favored for sleep. Now that they were close enough, Virgil could see his brother looked not only sleep-deprived but also worn out as much as his bed clothes. Even his short black hair was an unkempt rumpled mess and the sad, tired blue eyes in his pale sickly face spoke volumes about the many inner turmoils that haunted him.

Lifting a foot, Virg used it to push out the chair across from his position so Scoot could sit himself instead of looming over him like a pale, depressive scarecrow. It was breakfast, dammit! The most important meal of the day ( _or its precursor as it were_ ) and the brawny male would not have his wake-up snack rained on by whatever storms were gathered in his eldest sibling's worrisome mind. Taking the silent hint, Scott nodded in thanks to his ' _little_ ' brother and parked on the chair, enjoying the feel of being able to move his legs and thighs, let alone sit on his rear, without suffering from lancing, almost crippling pain or the constant loss of agility and movement strength as he had lived with in the last three years since IR had gotten operational. His brother answered his sigh of contentment with a sad teary smile of his own before spreading some cottage cheese on his muffin to eat his treat before somebody else interrupted. It wasn't gluttony, it was experience acquired from a family of five ravenous kids and then boarding schools and university dorms; " _eat it or lose it_ " was the motto.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

The two siblings were just sitting in quiet communion, sharing in what the family had taken to calling the ' _twin-psych_ ' that seemed to unite these two dark-haired brothers so they could survive and manage the herd of pale-furred others. Not that they would EVER say out loud to the rest of the broodlings what they thought of the private joke the five young men had invented when they were just kids and sooo much more carefree.

Their pleasant companionable silence was interrupted by the door to the second bathroom opening to reveal golden blond hair coiffed in its usual perfect style that made the envy of males the world over if the last few issues of fashion magazines were to be believed. John always was the most finicky of the group about his appearance. Even during leisure times, his jeans and T-shirts were always the cleanest and oftentimes pressed to form too. **Snort!** Their pale skinned guy even had the cleanest beachwear of the entire Eastern seaboard or so it would seem at times. HOW did he manage to keep his damned white  & blue surf shorts clean on a sandy beach, dammit?

Unaware of his two siblings' thoughts at his presentation, the young astronaut made an instinctually very efficient arcing course for the coffee carafe only the way people who lived in zero-G most of the year ended up doing every day of their life. With nary a thought to his hands, John took a large thermal steel mug bearing the ASET logo and fixed himself a load of fuel to start the morning or else he'd go right back to bed and not emerge till dusk. The night had been long, filled with nightmares, visions and pleas to their mother's deceased soul to come take her boy from this pain at long last. Clenching his eyes shut tightly against the sunlight that was getting stronger, the pilot of T5 let the mug fall to the counter where it wobbled and straightened out as he needed both hands to grab the counter to hold himself from falling to the floor in misery.

A pair of long strong arms gathered him into an incredibly comfortable embrace, holding him tightly against a warm bare chest that was itself more soothing than any ergonomic pillow John had ever tried out. With his face now sheltered in the shoulder of his biggest little brother, John let it go. He let it all go, the tears coming down in rivers as great chocking sobs wracked his painfully thin chest with spasms that would probably bruise along his ribs because he had so little meat on him. The crisis lasted about ten minutes then subsided. The young man blinked his weary aqua eyes to try and see the world only to find himself in a ' _compromising_ ' position. Virgil had sat on the floor with his legs elongated in front of him and sat John on his lap sideways like a little tyke, wrapping his tree-trunk like arms around him in fiercely protective shelter whilst his head lolled unto his broad cushy shoulder to rest as he cried himself out.

Then John blinked again and realized something; Virg was practically naked. The blond shrugged negligently then closed his eyes and snuggled back into the crook of his brother's neck, needing the human warmth and steady, reliable presence to drag himself through the quagmire inside his mind.

 **{ TB } - { John's absentminded musings** **} - { TB }**

Well? So friggin' what? They had been raised in very close quarters all five of them over two and a half decades, five brothers from the same parents in the same house who shared several common amenities like the gyms, rec rooms and infirmaries that all had unisex washrooms not reserved for anybody specific as they weren't public buildings. Even just the en-suites in their personal bedrooms had a lot less privacy than you'd think, given how all of the boys were a bit of the _speed junkie_ type. The guys often tended to act real fast; a bit of youthful exuberance coupled with IR's training, then they wondered comically why there was a naked person in the shower as they rifled through the cubbies and medicine cabinet for something that they no longer had in stock elsewhere it was immediately needed.

Let's not dwell too much on just how many times Kayo had accidentally walked in on one of the boys in their showers, or as they were getting changed from the beach or just getting out of bed at odd hours. Since all of them slept in very thin, usually well worn, clothing due to the tropical climate of the island, it didn't take much sweat from a nightmare ( _or very pleasant dream_ ) to make the flimsy bits of textile practically see-through. The poor girl had probably gotten an eye-rinsing show more than a few times in the last years as the boys matured into fit, athletic young adults alongside of her. And nobody attached to their body parts would say out loud just how many accidents they had where the poor girl was the accidental show-off. While silence was the rule of survival, it certainly hadn't been unpleasant for the brothers, that was certain! Tanusha, on the other hand, simply smiled mysteriously in silence, never letting on what she thought of whatever she was accidentally privy to.

Although, she did choose Alan; what did that _say_ about the older Tracy siblings' _qualities_?

 **{ TB } - { Back to reality** **} - { TB }**

Still, John had no care in the worlds that Virgil was under-dressed; what mattered was the depth of goodness and raw strength of brotherly love that emanated from him at every breath. How the rest of the humanities saw the situation didn't even deserve the waste of spittle needed to spit at that opinion.

The athletic artist had a concerned expression on his face as he playfully poked his older brother with the much dreaded ' _diagnostic finger_ ' since that was the same basic method he used to see if somebody was unconscious or had lost nerve sensations in a body area. Seeing John squirm and resettle himself on his muscular, thickly padded thighs for a long comfortable stay had Virgil's frown turn up in satisfaction about the event. Everybody needed a good hard cry every now and then to purge the system and restart the ol'e engine without all the gunk inside. It would do Jonny a world of good to let his tightly wound character out of the mold for a while before he was forced to pull it all back in to act like the big mature adult society expected him to be. If the only thing Virg had to do to help him get better was to serve as a cushy lounge chair for a while, then he'd get comfy for however long was needed and enjoy every minute of the calming, soul-healing, non-violent family interaction he could get.

Scott sat back on his chair after turning it around to straddle it and set his arms on top of the backrest to affect a more easy position. Taking a deep breath, the eldest son took a long hard look at his closest sibling, taking in his sickly complexion and came to conclusions he didn't like. The moment the lanky astronaut opened his teary aqua eyes long enough to wipe them dry, Scooter asked in the softest voice he could "The night was that rough, hein?"

Sighing deeply, John shook his head despondently. "Gordon kept tossing and turning all night, moaning and groaning bout stuff dad did to him that we did'na know about. When Alan said Jeff had built hidden jail rooms around the island's outer perimeter, I doubted it. I doubted him, my own little baby brother that never lied to us before about hard stuff. I couldn't believe that dad could be that much gone out of his mind, down the path of his madness. But after hearing how deep, how true Gordon's pain was during his night terrors, I can't doubt it anymore. I want that island turned inside out... I want to see where my younger brother suffered in silence when we were flying high, the big bright blue Thunderbirds, the **Holy Saviors** , _better than all humanity_. I want to know where dad took my brother and what he did to him when our backs were turned on him. then I want to burn the whole fucking turdpile of a waste of land down to the bloody bedrock forever!"

Looking like a lost soul adrift in a leaking life raft on a storm tossed ocean for a year, the lean built aerospace technician couldn't focus his gaze on anything as his damaged mind looked backwards to the things he had heard all night long as he shared the bedroom with his red-headed sibling. Making a superhuman effort to concentrate on Scott's face, he dropped the atomic bomb in their midst.

"Guys, **Gordy was raped**." Swallowing passed a huge, heavy lump in his throat, the poor desperate boy tried to explain the unexplainable. " **It was dad** , guys. And some of dad's depraved, subhuman cronies. He brought in some defective retards from the everywhere on Earth; the USA mainland, Canada, all over Europe, Australia or New Zealand, more than twenty men in total came cuz he rented out our baby brother by the half-day until he was sure he was broken and would never try to resist his _almighty god-given_ **POWER** again in his life."

Scott shot up out of his chair and made it to the kitchen sink just in time to puke the bile that had accumulated in the pit of his stomach over night. Virgil was holding on by fumes at this point; he didn't have any reserves of hope or good humor left to lend out to anyone anymore. If he took a single other moral hit of the same sort, he'd seriously start thinking about jumping off the building's roof to end it all while he could still recognize his own soul in the mirror instead of a mutated monster.

After running the water in the sink, Scotty spat one last time in the twirling liquid. He then took up a pair of square wide porcelain soup mugs from the overhead cupboard's open cup rack, filling them both at half so his brothers could have something to dissolve the acid in their guts. Bringing the cold tap water to his siblings, he knelt by their side on the thankfully thick carpeting. "Drink a sip of this guys, especially you Virg since you were drinking apple juice and that's pretty acidic, not to mention a bad choice to have with cottage cheese. You'll have a nasty upsurge if you don't dissolve it soon."

Turning to the pallid second-born after the flying paramedic had gratefully taken his chilled drink, Scoot reached out to card a gentle, caring hand through John's sweaty golden locks, cupping the back of his neck in support. Closing his eyes in shame and self-hate, the eldest asked the cursed question: "Why? Did Gordon say enough that we know what dad was thinking or wanting when it happened?"

John's answer chilled the two brothers to the marrow of their bones: " **Power penultimate.** He was losing **power** over us as we grew up, especially Alan. After threatening us four during so many years about what he would do to hurt our baby brother if we didn't submit to his demented views of an utopia ruled by the tremors in his cock, he lost his last marbles. When Alan dragged him to DCFS back five years ago, he panicked and signed with his eyes closed, not really knowing what he did to his future power and authority with those papers, let alone the money. As the years passed, the two youngest were not staying any younger, you know... So as they aged, the Laws and Customs of US culture were giving them more and more autonomy, more capacity to defend themselves. Dad had especially lost all genuine power over Alan who was now investigated by DCFS four times a year to guarantee his physical welfare and health against Jeff's violent temper."

With a tremble passing through his worn out body, John tried to make sense of the unreasonable. "Since Jeff couldn't pass his anger out on Alan other than by imprisoning and depriving him, he doubled down on all of us instead. Since he was the smallest, less combative and easiest to scare, it was our Squid that ended up getting the raw end of it more than everybody else. Gordy **TRIED** last year to say he was over 18, legally an adult, that he _no longer accepted to get punished physically_ by Dad or grandma. That was the match that lit the loose powder keg in Jefferson's head as it confirmed for him that he no longer had any victims to break and dominate to _prove his manhood to himself_."

Virgil groaned, touching his forehead to the temple of the older sibling sitting on his lap for emotional support. It was so damned blindingly obvious! All the Tracy boys had seen this in **police manuals** and **paramedic videos** during their obligatory _training for IR_ in case they had a rescue where the victim had been assaulted by a parent, teacher or priest and refused to cooperate because they were in a panicked dissociative state.

 **{ TB } - { Virgil's knowledge of Criminalistics** **} - { TB }**

It was a very well established psychological fact that an abuser usually had a ' **victimology** ' or ' _preferred type_ ' of body and character they enjoyed dominating. It was also a very well proven psychological pattern that **pedophiles/predators** came in two groups; the _sexually driven_ **rapists** and the _authority driven_ **breakers**. Note that **BOTH patterns** could happen inside the same person.

When a **pedophile rapist's** victim became too old or changed something fundamental in their profile, the usual reaction of the criminal was to dump the child in the wilds like old, toxic trash. About half of the times, the rapist killed the victim or else tried to render them incapable of testifying about their crimes by destroying their eyes, ears and mouth, sometimes their hands as well. Oftentimes, these mutilations were motivated by the pedophile's desire to mar, to render ugly and ' _unusable_ ' the ' _toy_ ' he had just discarded so somebody else couldn't grab the poor youth and enjoy them the way that he had done. It was all about property, ownership, dominance and _marking the territory boundaries_ just like a damned dog in heat wagging it's tail, humping furniture and pissing all over the place.

When a **breaker** saw his victims become too old and therefore **too big/strong** to physically dominate with beatings and threats to younger hostages, the criminal usually went into a psychological meltdown called ' **decompensation** ' which meant the defective would search out everything that was wrong in his recreation of his utopic fantasy life then ruthlessly remove it by violence. This meant that a **breaker** **who felt** **he was himself becoming scared or intimidated** by his child-aged victims growing older would ALWAYS degenerate into a bloody rampage, killing all the ' _perceived_ ' threats in the group then disposing of the bodies like trash.

This was the basic psych profile of the ' **Familial Annihilator** ' that had become an epidemic in North America since the year 2000 was passed. Whenever a father/mother killed all their children and spouse then burned down the house, it usually ended up being the work of a **breaker** who had been caught off guard by how fast the kids became adults; big, strong, independent and no longer scared of the strap or fists. Also usual in those sordid cases were the **confirmed obsessions** of the killer parent for religion, authority, power, obedience and _Apocalypse Prophecies_ or _End Times_ that justify exploiting and abusing relatives to ' _save their souls before the End comes_ '.

 **Pedophiliac predators,** be they **Breakers** or **Rapists** , were infamous for hiding in plain sight in target-rich environments by owning private religious **boarding schools** , religious or ' _disciplinary_ ' **training camps** , private amateur sports teams and sometimes private _religiously inspired_ **hospitals or asylums** that emphasized ' _pastoral medicines_ ' and ' _conversion therapy_ ' for **imagined** **sins** and _juvenile delinquencies_. Any type of setting where they could exert _discipline_ , _control_ , _authority_ and _JUDGMENT_ then apply **CORRECTIVES** with the _full consent of the parents_ or state's Education department.

The most basic hints you were dealing with a bad situation established and run by a **breaker/rapist predator** were: isolation from cities  & rescue efforts; removal from jurisdiction of birth; forcible separation from family group; religious emphasis/obsession in all aspects of life; justification of public beatings and torture **even unto rape** ( _corrective intercourse_ ) to ' **save the wayward child's soul** '. At any moment the leader of a group wants to leave for ' _International waters_ ' or go to a country without ' _extradition treaties_ ' with America, Canada, Mexico and the European countries, you had the biggest **RED FLAG** you could ever get.

 **{ TB } - { Back to Reality** **} - { TB }**

For many years, Jefferson had acted like his parents Grant and Ruth; as an inflexible tyrant mad with his own power. He had several times said out loud he was **above even God himself** although he certainly _invoked him every day of his life_ to justify his actions in the household, company or IR work. Jeff had thrived on seeing all his orders followed **on the moment he spoke them aloud** and his physical punishments _suffered in fearful silence_ but had never given any signs he was sexually excited by the gestures done to his sons. Then again, he thought he was truly and penultimately authoritative and dominative over their bodies, minds and souls. What the bloody blue blazes had happened for the inbred yokel cretin to go from violent parental tyranny into incestuous sexual sadism?

Virgil couldn't handle this anymore. He needed some space to process things and having the other two so close was no longer a crutch, it was crowding him until he could feel the walls closing in on him. Giving a simple gentle push on John's spine was enough for the older male to spring off his brother's lap as if he had been thrown by a catapult. Standing up after almost a quarter-hour with the 170 pounds of sibling on his thighs was a welcome respite. The brawny artist angrily rubbed both hands through his short dark brown hair, mussing it up even worse than the shower spray had. Not caring one whit, the medic grunted something unintelligible at his brothers before making a bee-line for his room. Barely a few minutes later, he came back out wearing his favorite dark blue jeans while carrying the rest of his clothing in his hands. He turned the chair he had used previously so he could sit to pull on his socks and soft worn sneakers then yanked his usual white T-shirt in place. He hadn't brought a flannel shirt as he wasn't in the mood to get too formally dressed at this point.

During his brief absence, John had gone to the sink to spit and rinse out his mouth from the taste of bile and misery whilst Scotty rubbed his back in sympathy; the _Space-Case_ 's night had really been awfully torturous for such a gentle soul. They were just pulling up chairs at the dining table to sit properly when the bigger brother came back in the common area to finish dressing. Now fully seated with their guts girded for the rest of the crapulence they had to wade through, the siblings exchanged gazes of soul-deep despair before Jonny choked out the rest of what he had accidentally learned last night.

"Gordon spoke almost like he was talking to somebody in his mind. I think the post-op drugs did a number on his self-control. This wasn't just benign sleepwalking like me asking for coffee in my sleep when I was prepping for my SAT's. This was full-blown night terrors and loss of subconscious barriers between mind and reality. This tells me he will need psychiatric treatment in a clinic or a very tightly regulated home setting for the foreseeable future." John stopped to sip some cold water from the mug in his hands.

The pale, dispirited young man continued his deleterious story. "From the fragments I heard, Dad panicked when Gordon tried to get recognized as an adult inside IR and the home environment. It was like a switch went on in dad's head that lit the gunpowder. He went ballistic right away, laying the worse beating Gordy ever had in his life then he told us that he would isolate him for _remedial – punitive –_ **training** since Gordon himself had said his time in WASP had been too short and practically useless. That was the first time that Jeff raped him, that very evening. He moved his insensate, battered body from his bedroom on a flat wheeled dolly like so much cargo by using the ventilation ductworks that penetrate the entire house and IR complex like worm burrows. He brought him out in the night air and rolled him for almost 20 minutes before getting to one of those secret phantom rooms that are disconnected from everything. He was kept there all night. I... He... That is to say, he didn't get into details other than say stuff like ' _please dad, no more_ ' and ' _I ain't a gal dad, stop it!_ ' and... ' _Not my butt hole! I'm no queer fag to do that!_ ' but apparently Jeff just kept getting angrier that the kid was resisting and even tried to fight back at some point. So he raped him until he broke and retreated into himself and didn't come out until Jeff drugged him to react."

"Fucking Hells!" Scott swore as he grabbed at his hair violently with both hands, almost as if he hoped he could yank the evil thoughts out of his mind along the uprooted black strands. Virgil wasn't far behind at this point. He was agreeing with John's diagnosis that psychiatric treatment would be necessary; he just believed it would be a fundamental necessity for all five of them by now. How in tarnation were they supposed to have any sort of normal human lives after this shit fell on them?

John cleared his throat noisily, getting their attention; "From the dregs of Gordy's mind, I divined that Jeff had begun a rapid descent down the slope of dementia. During several of the beatings and almost all of the rape events, he called Gordon different names that weren't his, as if he wasn't completely present mentally. He often yelled abuse at ' _Alan_ ' which I guess I can understand; he was using Gordy as a placebo to replace Alan that he couldn't hurt anymore. But calling him ' _Thea_ ' or ' _Armandine_ ', names Gords couldn't put a face or identity to, was just plain weird. Sometimes, Jeff seemed to think it was his dead older brothers he was yelling at or blaming for **disorder and juvenile delinquencies** around the house. From what the Squid uttered in his sleep, dad hasn't been particularly sane or mentally sound in about fifteen months or more. And when he realized he was losing his grip on the passage of Time and he was losing his ' _edge of fear_ ' over his victims, that soon he wouldn't be able to hold Alan's health over our heads anymore... Well, he cracked all the ways."

Scott whispered in morose tones; "Thea and Armandine are our sisters that died in miscarriage while dad and mom were trying to have a daughter through that fertility clinic in California. Both fetuses never passed the fifth trimester before they spontaneously self-aborted. They are actually buried in the Tracy family plot, on Grant's farm not far from here since we're back in Kansas City near the old farmstead. Dad must really have been blown out of his last whits to blame Gordy or Alan for the poor little baby girls' deaths like that. At my age I can barely remember the context, they shouldn't even be aware of it given how young they are."

Jonny made a sad face at that. "I forgot about them. Then again, they never saw the light of day and we never saw the urns, we were never brought to their plots to see the markers. Mom certainly never spoke of them inside the house and dad was never in his life one to admit is mistakes or deficits. And not being able to have the **child of his choice** at least once was always a big piece of his arrogant ego that got shredded right in front of his eyes. Didn't he use to blame mom's British ancestry, her supposed inbreeding, for being _too bitchy_ to give him what he said was his by right as the ' _Master of the house_ '?"

Virgil made a face at hearing _that_ accusation again; it had been years since the last time. "Let's not dig up more dirt than we already have in the dumper truck, guys!" he exclaimed in angry tones since he was truly out of any patience or emotional buffer. "It's already over the tolerances as we go, I can't take anymore... Give it a damned rest for Pete's sake and let the shrinks handle the muckraking when they're chosen and contracted." Slamming both hands viciously on the table top, he shoved his chair backwards to get up and move away. "T'il then, I'm out'ta brain matter to give for this rotten shite. We can wake up Gords and go for breakfast, or brunch at some point if you prefer to wait, but I'm gonna go hunting for morning food by myself if you don't make up your minds ASAP."

All three boys were kept from making any sorts of decisions when a soul-sundering scream was heard coming from John & Gordon's shared bedroom despite the closed door and thick concrete walls.

 **From the Valley of the Shadow of Death**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – rescue theme)_

 **Sunday 27th of June, 2060; 08:22am**

 **ASET home base; hospital building,** _private Tracy ward_

 **Kansas City, Kansas, USA**

The brown haired, blue-eyed scientist sat heavily on the reclining sofa besides the large window seat and took off his electronic glasses to wipe them clean again. It was mostly a nervous tick by now, not a necessity since he had his sight surgically repaired several years ago and it had become quite good in fact. Placing the eyewear in his shirt pocket under his jacket, he folded and tucked the handkerchief in the same pocket in a way that covered and protected the glasses. This little device was another ingenious collaboration between Alan, Tanusha and Fermat so he wanted to protect it as much as he could; his daily usage of the spectacles was hard enough on them without taking more risks.

Leaning backwards into the recliner, he placed his arms comfortably across his abdomen in thoughtful pose before gazing at the worried, despondent young men arrayed before him in various seats and positions. Alan sat with Kayo in the other recliner across from the coffee table whilst Scott, John and Virgil sat by age order, accidentally it seemed, on the wide plush window seat. Fermat had decided to sit on the window seat as well, in the corner next to his father's sofa. Everyone was waiting on Hiram's explanations even as medical personnel and equipments were moved in and out of Gordon's room.

Letting out a deeply dispirited, remorseful sigh, the multi-competence _technician of everything_ began to speak up for his audience. "Well then; Gordon experienced an episode of catastrophic night terrors caused by a reaction to the post-op pain management drugs then fueled by the genuine memories of his repeated victimization by Jeff  & cronies that culminated in spontaneous wakefulness. Since he awoke alone in an empty, unknown room without any familiar marks to orient his senses of safety and normality, he devolved into a traumatic panic attack that needed forceful intervention by sedation to relieve the _chemical short-circuit_ in his brain that sustained the _anxiogenic state_. The paramedic leading the intervention applied the normal vaporized dosage of 2ml gaseous form ' _perceptions dampener_ ' to disconnect Gordon from the stimuli that created and perpetuated the angry/panicked altered state of mind. This was immediately followed by an osmotic dermal patch carrying the emergency dosage of 10ml liquid form ' _adreno-steroidal dissolver_ ' to lower his aggressivity, speed, reflexes and general muscle strength to render him non-dangerous for the paramedics or himself."

Hiram took the time to gather his thoughts about the basic diagnostics and how Gordon himself had reacted to the situation when he got his bearings and senses back in his own grasp, a few minutes before Brains left the room so the teenager could get a thorough check up by the responding doctor and some clean civilian clothes. Due to some residual _body image shame_ , deep-seated fear and, yes, well founded anger against Hiram for his cowardly lack of defense or help, Gordon barely tolerated the man's presence. He didn't trust him, not by a long shot, but he could tolerate him _superficially_ in an emergency or IR work. As the intervening medic had rapidly declared the event " **handled & closed except for the paperwork**", the young male had dryly shunted Hiram out of the room _post haste_ without so much as a ' _Thank you for caring_ ' as he was convinced that the elder Hackenbacker didn't care about any Tracy child except Alan for some reason never made clear to anybody.

Closing his eyes to fight privately inside his own mind against self recriminations and self loathing, the middle-aged scientist tried to pull himself out of his own emotional morass to give the family of young people the support he should have all along. Noise by his left side drew him back to reality as the doctor was walking towards them, a manila folder in hand with the intervention report and recommended follow-up for later in the week.

He was the same passed middle-age doctor who had taken the first shift in the Tracy family infirmary on the evening Alan had invaded the island. The name tag on his lab coat spelled out ' _Dr F.R. Mueller_ ' and nothing else. They had learned from one of the nurses moving around the room that he was an urgentologist specialized in physical traumatology, family medicine and psycho-social intervention. Basically, he worked with broken people spewed out by broken dysfunctional families or cults; just the type of man to have on hand when cleaning up the mess Jeff had made of all their lives. Funny that, how Alan had thought that hiring such a medic on full-time staff was a good idea. _We wonder why?_

The gray-haired medic stood at attention next to Alan's sofa at parade rest like a good soldier did with superior officers, waiting for his Boss to give him leave to speak. Receiving a nod from the fourteen year old, he stated in low clear voice a more elaborate but similar version of Hiram's recitation. Another nod from Alan had the man salute then go, leaving the two folders about Gordy's anxiety attack and post-operation follow-up on the coffee table. The small pile of paper lay there innocently enough, even though the contents could detonate like an emotional IED in their minds.

The last paramedic and orderly left the common room with the secondary wheeled trolley full of emergency intervention gear, all IR-caliber or above, after one last visual confirmation with Alan that they were let go for the moment. It was bare seconds after the main door closed that a disheveled Gordon marched out of the shared convalescence bedroom in a snit, dressed in loose cutoff jeans, sandals without socks and a loose fit Hawaiian shirt splashed in such blinding colorations that Scotty swore it could serve as a non-chemical, non-flammable emergency landing zone marker for IR if they got back to flying rescues in the wilds.

Gordon stood with his hands shoved deeply in his jeans' pockets, looking crossly at the way the people were seated so tightly packed and so damned efficiently it didn't leave him any spot but the bloody floor like a dog. Frowning angrily at his brothers, he growled "Where the fuck do I sit in this pow-wow? On the rug by the fireplace like a good little lap-bitch? The Hells, No! Move and make me a place, dammit!" The sneer marring his face was equal parts anger, betrayal as he felt left out and self doubts as to his value and right to sit in the group given what Jeff had done to him.

Instead of getting angry, defensive or sullen, Alan got up from his very comfortable, ' _girlfriend enhanced_ ' position to walk over to his older sibling then wrapped him in such a clingy full-body hug that Gordon himself wondered for a second just who was the family Squid. Then the world was well again as one by one, all the Tracy brothers went to their wounded, aggrieved sibling to pile on to shape their famous Tracy-sandwich with Gords pressed by a warm body on four different sides. They stood there for several long, pleasantly warm, soul-healing minutes before they split apart wiping away the tears of shame and misery none had tried to stop or hide.

With a playful smirk at her youngest male friend, Tanusha had Fermat share the recliner with her in such a way she was now near the window seat. Alan sat next to her on said box bench followed by Scott, Gordon in the middle then John and finally Virgil next to Hiram who remained in the same chair. Once properly ensconced and surrounded by family properly, they could converse about what urgencies they needed to settle right out of the starting blocks.

Kayo cleared her throat to gather attention to her. "The Mechanic has been completing his task of strip-mining Tracy island to the bare bedrock until no traces are left of human occupation. He has found several hidden tunnels, rooms and hangars never included in either the IR schematics nor the _reserved_ Tracy Estate blueprints. These were quite obviously designed then built by Jefferson using the oldest and least capable builder-bots dating back to the first digs on the project. It is my conclusion that he saved a few of the older bots in one of the equipment bunkers that were supposed to be back-filled upon completion of the overall project at the end of the IR garages' excavation. He probably simply lied about the bunker getting decommissioned and destroyed then marked it falsely on the schematics so nobody would look for a back-filled hole in the ground. Nothing else to report on that front."

Fermat spoke up in his childish 12 year old voice with much more confidence than ever showed and no stutter at all. "I have finished the downloads of the Tracy Estate remote surveillance tapes from the original secret servers that Mr Jeff had placed around the island. We will be able to trace the movements of every vehicle or person that visited, especially those that committed depravities against our own kin at the behest of the **cult guru** and his _shrewish harpy_ of a mother. Also under way as we speak is the back-tracking of all the hidden communications, data-transactions and remote banking done from the Island servers. Several things do not line up with the ' _official_ ' records held by the banks and investment offices where Mr Jeff had placed the moneys, assets and Trust Funds for the family members, Tracy Heavy Industries or the secret numbered accounts of IR. We will have forensic accountants hired by ASET go through the lot to find out the significance of these occult movements along the reports from the IT department tech-heads. That is all from me."

Alan joined his hands on his lap, fingers interlaced as he spelled out the situation for them. "ASET is presently on a **war footing** with all watchposts operating on ' _sharp watch_ ' status until I give the order otherwise. All of our personnel, equipments, vehicles and installations are accounted for and answering to the automated periodic verification ' _pings_ ' we send out to their servers along hidden security channels built into ASET's ' _Virtual Private Network_ ' backbone. As we stand, I have four airboats carrying full crews and ordinance load-outs flying patrol orbits around Kansas City to manage the close-in threats' responses. I have all four of my optically camouflaged militarized cargo ships sailing under ' _silent run_ ' protocols with **strike-back plans** and orders on the conn officer's desk at all times in case the situation devolves to it."

The young teenager passed a hand through his short golden-blond hair as he looked into empty air, aware beyond the comprehension of his brothers of just what _potential_ and **POWER** the ASET troops could wield in times of crisis. Under Alan's guidance, they had prepared diligently for civil unrest, international war and possibly the splitting of the USA into separate nations or even city-states for the very populous metropolitan areas. The quality of training and highly evolved technology in their equipments, communications and central strategic management gave the company's private guards an ' _elite_ ' standing amongst other militaries or security agencies active on the planet currently. Alan knew all too well what he could unleash, even before the ' _Deus Ex Machinae_ ' of the **nano-fluid** was set free.

Giving his brothers a gimlet eye, the youngest sibling spoke in clear, even words that held their attention as he drew out the lay of the land for them. "I have spent most of yesterday afternoon and evening on the holophone with the President of the USA, colonel Casey of the GDF and magistrate Huxtencher at the World Penal Tribunal in The Hague at the seat of the United Nation's courts. Neither were impressed positively by the videos recovered from Tracy Island's own secret servers as installed and managed by Jefferson himself. They are aware of all the _basic factoids of the situation_ , on top of the actual crimes and who the accomplices were."

"As it stands, ASET is in position to lash out at several thousand people who were allies or collaborators of Jeff's demented sectarian **micro-theocracy** and exterminate with extremely prejudicial methods those that harmed us or facilitated such harm happening and continuing. People whom Jeff cajoled, bribed, gave jobs to or supported for achieving positions of social importance around THI's environment have been listed inside a ' **master registry** ' and slated for retaliatory measures by ME, regardless of position, function, rank, title, style, diplomatic and parliamentary privileges, etc... Since several of these are BIG DONORS to the political campaigns of just about anybody close to or inside the offices of POWER, several governments have made discrete but clear overtures to ' **rent** ' peace with me. Discussions for such and the terms of compensation towards our hurt family are now in full progress as we sit here. I have put it in the hands of my lawyers and notaries, with the accountants and actuaries giving them the various tables for the evaluation of medical fees, ' _lost lived time_ ' and ' _lost joy-of-life_ ' compensations and ' _professional reputation hindrance & damage_' compensations, etc..."

Giving his brothers the gimlet eye sideways, the boy growled nastily; "I know **fuckingly well** that _money_ and _free permits_ to pilot like drunken dope-headed jackasses without the cops hassling you is **worth jack-shit** compared to all the pains and miseries we all suffered! But, **from the governmental and political standpoint, it only matters depending on how big a dollar amount is appended to it** _because that is what will impact their lives_ at the moment of reelections. If you touch the state budget hard enough to force them to cut programs or raise taxes, then you **directly impact the political survival** of the _individuals_ and the _parties_ as wholes. That is how you get a heavily armed menacing government off your back: you bill, tax and sue them out of the cash needed to fuel their humongous over-costly war machine so it can't even turn the key in the ignition without bankrupting the state. At that point, you win ( _or stall_ ) the fight long enough to negotiate a lasting **settlement** in your favor."

Scott was paler than John's usual skin complexion as he heard the report from the three youngest people in the room. It couldn't be this way! **CHILDREN** were playing at **empire-building** with the lives of _millions of people_ in _tens of countries_ with the damned schemes they were shuffling around like sheets in a three-ring binder! "And just how in bloody blue blazes do you propose to get away with this **hair-brained scheme** of yours, dammit all to Hells! Nobody in their right mind will ever fall for this! I was in the US Air Force, Alan! I spent **four** _fu!-ck!-ing!_ **years** in the service! I can tell you that the brass would never fall for what crap your pulling out of your asshole! It won't work, _idjiot_ fool!"

Alan stood up and slowly turned towards Scott, wearing an unreadable face. In a lightning fast gesture that the eldest didn't even track, the teenager had reached out and grabbed him by the throat in a straight-up full-on vice-clamp with a single hand then he twisted and pulled at the same time, resulting in Scooter getting yanked off the window seat then launched bodily over the coffee table to land in a misshapen heap on the carpet in the open area between the living room and dining room. It had taken Alan less than 4 seconds to assault and determinably beat his older, more experienced brother. As he got up from the floor bruised and angry, Scott was confronted with the coldest, bluest eyes he had ever seen in his life. Even Jeff hadn't scared him like that no matter how off the deep end he had gotten.

Alan would not tolerate doubts based on fear, prejudice or ageistic bigotry. Scott could see that truth now; if he brought a rational, pragmatic argument he would be listened to fairly but if he let the ' **Tracy Temper** ' run away with his wits and spew out verbal trash about Ally being too young a child to understand or judge the situation, he'd get put through the meat grinder for being a dumb _Jeff-a-like_. And his little brother **would not ever again allow** a _Jeff-a-like_ to rule his life, judge his actions or emotions or demean his value to his own eyes.

Scott realized he had come close to getting killed by his little baby Allie-Gator this morning. If the boy had pitched him differently or held on to his throat as he went sailing through the air, he could have broken his neck or torn his trachea and killed him instantly without a chance at survival. Scooter was now alive because his brother had chosen that. **He could have chosen differently.** Knowing that made his entire world tilt off kilter as the tears began to flow down his face as he defensively held his throat with both hands and backed away from the teenager. At some point after throwing his sibling, Alan had drawn a small semi-automatic pistol from his cargo pants and held it in his left hand comfortably, thus showing off the ease borne of long hours of intense practice with his off hand. Scott lowered his watery eyes in despair and surrender.

 **Jeff had finally won.**

One of them had **died**. His soul was no longer _Pure_ and _Innocent_ and so it was as real a death as if he jumped from a cliff or slashed his wrists like Gordon had done. **Alan was dead** and replaced by something worse than Jefferson could have ever turned out as: a _competent tyrant_ who worked well in a team for a common goal. Hearing the phantom echoes of the national anthems of past fascist nations he had heard in high school in history class, the eldest Tracy son dropped heavily to his knees in a wobbly mess and lowered his head in shame at what his blood family had devolved into. The tears fell unbidden from his closed eyes as he hoped Alan would at least be quick and give him the **Final End** needed to clear his conscience for the _Light_ and his reunion with their poor mother's soul in _Heaven_.

"I am sorry mom. I tried to protect them and I failed. I love you. I will be there soon."

Soundless, insensate darkness was his answer as he fell into the **Void**.


	6. Chapter 6

The author wishes to express thanks to anyone who may read his story and encourages them to leave reviews, comments or even flame it hard. As with any who try their hand at publicly expressing an idea or story concept, all feedback is important and welcome.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Thunderbirds, nor any other sci-fi or fantasy series, movies, comics, cartoons or news items used in this fiction as they belong to the creators or broadcasters or publishers who put them out for consumption by the public.

 **WARNING** ; the language level of this one is not too particularly trashy when we consider a story based on ex-cons, ex-military men, high risk situations and rescue specialists dealing with everybody's crap and messes on top of their own. Also, it was series canon that the entire Tracy household swore like drunken sailors on an hourly basis. They cleaned up the language a whole lot more than spic-&-span in the 2004 movie and 2015 series. Remember the internal joke that the " **all clear** " call phrase " **FAB** " actually spells out " **Fuck It All, Boys!** " because of how often Jefferson was absolutely livid with rage at all five sons at the same time. It was transformed as a familial joke to tell each other that if Dad was able to get angry to scold or punish, then they were all healthy and doing fine at whatever was happening as Jeff had always told them " _Rescue first, heal second then order the House after everything else is done and packed away._ "

 **However** , as I always warn people who read my work: this language was pretty much normal in the school yard 30 years ago when I was a teenager. So, how can you have such a thin skin and be part of the same culture on the same continent if this is really that offensive to you? Where did you spend the last few decades, if you can't take a few hard words from the mouths of kids when these words have been around since before World War I?

 **Thunderbirds**

 **LOST VOICE chapter 6**

 **Out of the Desert they crawled unto the shores of Civilization**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – rescue theme)_

 **Sunday 27th of June, 2060; 15:02pm**

 **ASET home base; hospital building,** _private Tracy ward_

 **Kansas City, Kansas, USA**

Scott slowly rose from the depths of darkness whence he dwelt enough to hear the steady repetitive beeping of the heart rate monitor somewhere above his head. He'd heard that noise often enough in the last three years to know it by heart ( _ironic, that..._ ) and had come to associate it with either a successful rescue or dad _going off the deep end_ again so one of the siblings was laid out on a bed in the infirmary.

As it were, it was his turn to be on his back. Wiggling his hips to settle more comfortably under the warm sheets, the young adult enjoyed the feel of a well muscled athletic body that didn't hurt so bad he wanted to _rip it off his soul_ and throw it to the sea so the pain would stop. No; it hadn't been a dream. Jeff and Ruth were dead, the island had been cored out like a rotten worm-shot apple and the five brothers were physically healed after a round of _Hackenbacker_ **nano-fluid** therapy. For their emotional and mental stability, you should ask him again in a decade or two; he should have a credible answer for you by then. Didn't mean he'd believe it himself, but you could ask. Later.

Keeping his sky-blue eyes tightly closed, the black haired male tried to focus on his last memories from before his **black-out**. It felt like _traumatic amnesia_ , the way some car crash victims couldn't remember what happened to make them dangle from a tree branch over a ravine with their car a flaming wreck thirty feet beneath them. All he remembered was a piece of dull gray metal in front of his eyes, a soft clicking sound and... A whiffing? Like a _low-strength_ fart going off? Or maybe a spray can?

As his mind began to pick up speed and strength from his willingly processing factual information and deeply emotional situations, his heart rate increased, his lungs flexed more to bring in the necessary oxygen to fuel his oncoming mobility. Scott fought valiantly against the weight of his eyelids, feeling the gritty crud in the corners of his eyes, and even the warm soothing presence of the bed sheets was starting to feel heavy, restrictive in a manner that made him want to wake enough to throw off the constriction and roll around on his side to sleep again.

Finally giving it up for a bad job done, the young man cracked open his bleary, bloodshot eyes a bit, working his jaw open to suck in more air and exhale the foul taste that permeated his tongue. Blinking rapidly both eyes together a few times, Scooter saw that he was back in the bedroom he shared with Virgil atop Alan's hospital building. His little brother's _private_ , **hidden** , hospital building. The one with a **multitude of battleships** parked all around.

Feeling another bout of nausea and disorientation, the ex-airman rolled over to his right side and grabbed the emetic bowl from the nightstand just in time to spew a thin stream of yellowish bile shot with green streaks of mucous. After spitting twice, the nausea receded just as fast as it came, leaving the poor boy's stomach feeling empty and cramped. Scott stayed on his side, unsteadily propped up on his right elbow, eyes closed against the soft, diffused light in the room that was lancing through his brain painfully.

Soft noise from the window seat area indicated he wasn't alone; a watcher had been with him during his time out of conscience. A good sign as that meant he had been helped with whatever ailed him fast enough to keep it from getting worse. A medium sized hand with long thin fingers squeezed his left shoulder then moved to his nape, gently massaging the tension knot at the base of his skull, giving him both support and relief from the massive stress migraine he hadn't realized he was suffering from.

Managing to crack open his left eye a bit to confirm what he suspected, he saw his _spirit-sister_ Kayo standing besides the medical bed, holding her weight with one hand on the nightstand as the other hand gifted him some much needed human contact. Her presence besides him also meant that he had clearly not imagined events or had a hell of a bender without remembering what he drank to get like that.

"Are you completely awake?" the young woman asked, turning sideways so she could sit on the bed by his side instead of being canted at an odd angle for too long. "Scooter? Are you awake? Your eyes are open but I don't see _any light in the house_..." she quipped playfully at his befuddled state.

Scott tried to answer verbally but only managed to burp out another pass of stinking air from deep in the pit of his stomach where he could feel a slow, aching burn in progress. **Bleurgh!** Acid reflux...

"Don't strain yourself, brother. Alan and the others will be here soon; I signaled them when I saw you were truly coming back to us." the asian girl spoke in gentle measured words to her spirit-sibling since she could see clearly he was still very much _out-of-sorts_ for some time to come.

The veteran Air Force pilot tried to concentrate on Tanusha's green T-shirt but that was a bad idea in his present condition. She always wore the type of shirt that was rather thin, easily showing off the lines of the flattering sports bra she tended to use everyday and very, very directly brought attention to her well built, attractive physique. Closing his eyes and turning his head towards the other bed a bit more, the young man hoped he hadn't stared too much at her chest or she would let him heal only so she could pummel him herself. She was such a _nice_ sister that way...

Tanu snorted in good humor, always amused by the young men's reactions to her appearance even after all these years together. On one hand it was flattering, on the other it was just too funny to resist poking at their sudden prudery when she was present. She knew damn well how they could all get about girls, bodies and sex when she wasn't around to listen in on their antics. **Boys!** All the same, even Ally.

Wearing a roguish grin, the young female asked in fake concern "Hawww, Scotty... Did I poke you in the cheek by accident? My _front bumpers_ are a bit much to _drive around_ , being well endowed as my _chassis_ is. Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?" she poked the cute dimple on his left cheek with a long index finger, making ' _kissy_ ' noises with her lips as the older man blushed uncontrollably and tried to shimmy himself away from her position on the bed without falling off on the other side.

A bass male voice laughed at his predicament, announcing that Virgil had come in the room just in time to witness his older brother getting his leg pulled by the teenaged girl. Walking around the bed, Virg went to sit on a small straight backed wooden chair that usually served the medics or family during room visits. "You should see your face, bro! She got you good, this time! At least we know you're alive; there ain't no ways sum'tin dead had that much blood left to blush like that!" the paramedic joked at the first son's embarrassment. Scooter and Jonny's reactions towards their favorite female friend were always prime laughing stock for the day.

Scott decided he was healthy enough and awake enough to not fall back asleep so he didn't need the pillow anymore, hence he chucked it at his beefy brother's smirking face fast enough to catch the T2 pilot unprepared and – **Whap!** – It was now Scotty who had a smirk whilst Virgil almost fell off the dingy little chair.

Kayo reached out around Scott's hip as he was still lying on his side and gave a joking slap to his partially exposed rear, just enough sting to surprise him and make him gape at her when she wagged a finger at his nose, mock scolding "None of that throwing stuff around young man! Do it again and you'll need that pillow to sit on for dinner tonight!" She teased him while making a slapping gesture with her hand above his left buttock, daring him to be a brat again. Virgil was laughing his head off in the background while Scott tried his best charming smile with ' _extra dimples_ ' to get his sister to redirect her ' _affections_ ' to a more deserving, beefier and healthier target ( _Virgil_ ) that really needed all her efforts to become a better, more mature adult. Her predatory grin as she answered " _I've always preferred to play with soldiers rather than civilians; they last longer_ " had the young man gulping and suddenly turn himself to a sitting position in the bed, with his back pressed firmly against the headboard, to protect his vulnerable rump whilst the oversized flying mechanic was bent over in halves on his chair, laughing so hard he was gasping for air. Kayo pouted cutely, complaining aloud "Don't take all my _fun_ away like that, you old meanie!"

Alan walked into the room with his other siblings and the two Hackenbacker's to the sight of a sitting Scott, fearfully trying to hide on the side of the bed nearest the window seat with the sheets pulled up to his neck, Tanusha sitting demurely on said bed in the mid-room side and Virgil howling out his laughter like a doped loon from the visitor's chair next to her.

Shrugging dismissively, Ally said out loud "Back in the loony business again; he aught to be healed fine." John wiped a despairing hand down his face as Gordy hung on to his left arm with both hands, shaking in spasming gales of laughter while the two scientific prodigies kept their opinions to themselves, hidden behind the kind of vapid artificial smile that said " _They're crazy but pay well; shut up and put up with it._ "

The joys of being Tracy's... Yeah, we'll get back to you on that...

 **{ TB } - {** **T1 Tailspin** **} - { TB }**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – rescue theme)_

 **Sunday 27th of June, 2060; 15:15pm**

After convincing Kayo to sit on the window seat with him, much to the relief of his older brother, Alan ordered the others to appropriate places so the conversation could get under way without another blowout. Hopefully. His life just wan'nt that simple.

"Okay, flyboy" the youngest began with a pointed finger at his eldest sibling "You had an anxiety attack that degenerated into full blown panic with black-out. We sedated you and left you to sleep it off under medical watch until now. Questions?"

Blinking both eyes owlishly at his baby brother, Scott shook his head in amusement, replying "Don't lose the day job Sprout; with bedside manners like those, _doctoring_ ain't for you! Not sure what your girlfriend's gonna say when you talk to her in bed like that either."

"Well, at least he doesn't try to run away from me so that's a better showing than you, _coward_." Tanusha shot back sarcastically at the older male before Ally could get a word in. The younger boy just shook his head, amused at the byplay, and responded "My bedside manners with my girl aren't your problem, bro; especially since you don't have a girl of your own to compare with anyways!"

Gordon put a finger in the air, miming a scoreboard changing numbers as he imitated the dingy little bells that sounded when the score flipped. " **Ding!** We have a zinger! Scooter is on the ropes here, people! Will he be able to come back from this scorching retort from no less than the youngest Sprout in the house? _Oh, the sheer shame!_ Getting women advice from a fourteen year old, at his age too! We weep for ya, man, we truly do!" The red head exclaimed, shit-eating grin well in place. The howling laugh of Virgil and silent spasming of John who was wiping tears out of his eyes wasn't helping Scott's pride much. Such loving siblings he had. _Not!_

A few minutes later, Scott asked with deceptive calm "Ally, did you shoot me? I remember a piece of gray metal pointed at me and a noise, your face behind it and then blackness..." The forlorn look on the poor man's face was matched by the fear and uncertainty in his clouded eyes as he tried to process the memories to make sense of events.

Alan snorted and pulled out an item from the right thigh pocket of his cargo pants. It was gray and metallic, shaped like a small semi-automatic pistol. A cal.22 short-shell if Scott wasn't mistaken. Those were usually favored by women for self defense or spies for ambushes in tavern restrooms. Alan held the pistol sideways and took out the magazine then pulled back the slide in the ' _clear_ ' position to hand over the small weapon to his bed-seated brother.

Scotty forgot his situation and reached out to take the gun, accidentally dropping the bed sheets from his neckline so they pooled all over his lap, uncovering his bare chest. Kayo wolf-whistled and made a show of ogling the man's pectorals whilst his brothers were howling in laughter at his new blush. The girl shook her head in exasperated fondness at her _spirit-brother's_ antics. "Honestly, Scoot! You'd think I never saw you without a shirt! Or shorts for that matter..." she ended with a wicked grin, much to the chagrin of the young male who was trying to keep some dignity and failing miserably. Abandoning all hopes of getting some reprieve from the bunch of clowns surrounding him, the veteran pilot just arranged the blankets around his lower half to be covered and warm. At least the medics had left him his old sweat shorts when they put him in bed; no need to give a certain scoundrel sister anymore of a show than she had already _enjoyed_.

Huffing to himself some off-colored comments about family and siblings that didn't know any respect for their elders, the ex-soldier took the time to inspect the small piece of metal in his hand. It was a pretty standard device that looked like the model made by American Derringer or Cobra Arms and other pistol makers in America. That is until he saw the added knob switch on the side, right next to the thumb-flick safety. It had three small icons that showed images of a puff of gas, an explosion and a solid oval shape. Turning his eyes to his youngest sibling, he rose the dreaded ' _eyebrow of inquisitiveness_ ' upon the Sprout, silently intimating that he should talk or else Big Brother would make him.

Ally shrugged and asked "You remember how many times Tanu griped about professional rescuers and cops making the worse rescuees in the job because they always think they know better and won't let themselves be evacuated when you tell them?"

Scoot nodded his head affirmatively. "Yeah, she keeps saying she's gonna knock 'em to sleep to have an easier time of moving them around without all the bitching and ' _kind advice_ ' they shout at us." Suddenly, the young pilot looked at the pistol then his siblings and groaned in surrender to the obvious. "She did it, didn't she? She found a way to gas the guys to sleep to make rescuing them easier!"

"Nope! Niii-aaa-han!" The little Allie-Gator shook his head happy to set his older brother straight. "It was me that done it! I heard her one time and thought to myself: ' _Ally, as a good, kind and supportive boyfriend, what can you do to make your girl's job easier?_ ' So I got her a **sleep gun**. And voila! Now she's all smiles when she comes back from helping the firefighters, police or search crews."

Alan continued explaining the system; it was incredibly simple. "There was a real need for a reliable tranquilizer gun but I wanted the weapon to keep on shooting regular bullets without any adjustments on the pistol itself in case Kayo ran out of sedation shells. That's why it's all happening inside the round. The bullet carries a capsule of liquid sedative with a detonator and a miniaturized microchip right behind it. So you see, the trick is in the shells; each bullet has 3 modes of fire. You flick the switch next to the safety flicker to select ' _solid penetration_ ' for a long shot or armored target, ' _gas burst_ ' for a remote target moving erratically or the ' _direct puff_ ' if the target is within 2 feet of the pistol muzzle. Even the selector dial is an autonomous battery powered device that's completely external and just welded to the side of the pistol. It activates the firing option on the bullet via radio waves so no wires, mis-contacts or specialty gun needed. At the worse, you could shoot the gas shells from a standard firearm and get a partial result on a remote target, just no direct ' _puffing_ '. Ain't I a great boyfriend for giving her such a useful, considerate gift?" The teenager asked, hyping his own rep against his brother's disbelieving stares.

Tanusha nodded in approval and plopped an appreciative kiss on top of Alan's blond head, tracing her right thumb along his jawline in a gentle, teasing reward for being such an affectuous and attentive boyfriend. "That's right guys; take notes! It's not flowers or jewels that get a girl's heart, it's a shiny new toy that goes bang!"

John glared at Alan and Kayo together while crossing his arms and tapping his foot like an upset parent would upon discovering ongoing mischief in the house. Virgil was silent, mouth agape as he contemplated just how the little _Beansprout_ had managed to get their female friend by the heart strings. It was masterful as Kayo really didn't have the same girlie tendencies as other women the same age. She was much more mature and far less air-headed than the usual 19 year old college girl would be. Gordon could only weep ( _figuratively_ ) in admiration at his junior brother's play on the classic; he got her something shiny with ' _bling_ ' that wasn't jewels, flowers, makeup or useless knickknacks and she fell for it! Oh, damn! The kid sibs was good!

Fermat put a closed fist before his mouth and coughed loudly. Thrice. Then favored Ally with a nasty, pointed glare that had the blond boy put his hands in front of him defensively in a hurry.

"Okay, okay, Fermie! I didn't do it myself. I gave the idea to Fermat and he built it for me so I could pass it along later. And he got paid real well, too! I ain't no tightwad!"

Scott turned a gimlet eye on his youngest brother and asked in a playful voice "So you did like dad? Just grab a Hackenbacker and throw cash at him until the solution miraculously appears? I thought you were a _better person_ than that, Ally." the young adult quipped in mock disappointment.

Alan shrugged unrepentantly at his opinion. "Hey! It worked for the old guy for a decade. Why not? And I pay better than he did, on top of not hitting or threatening my people. What's not to love about my method of problem solving?"

That shut them right up, it did.

 **Stressful siblings still stressing**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – rescue theme)_

 **Sunday 27th of June, 2060; 15:20pm**

 **ASET home base; hospital building,** _private Tracy ward_

 **Kansas City, Kansas, USA**

"Alright, you big lug; what gives? Why'd you go bonkers on me earlier? Didn't I take good care of you? Didn't I make certain you were all healed and healthy? Did I aggress and demean you?" asked Alan in pointed words as he tried to figure out the reason for his older brother's crisis.

Scott carded a weary hand through his short black hair, exhaling a stressful sigh as he tried to put into coherent words what he could see but didn't feel anybody else was aware of. " **You are a dead man walking Alan.** So are Tanusha, Hiram and Fermat. So are we now, just like everybody on this damned _military campus_ of yours. How long do you think the US Army and the GDF will let you get away with building a **private army** on US soil? How long before the President and Congress send out the tanks and planes? You know about all the **satellites in orbit** and the cameras on the ground! How did you think you could get away with it for any length of time, you twit!" exploded the angry, stressed out pilot.

"Oh, that." deadpanned Alan, completely unconcerned. "You could have asked instead of giving yourself and everybody else a conniption like that. **Tch!** You're worse than a girl!" he quipped playfully as he pointed his thumb at Kayo, sitting besides him. Her nodding her head vigorously to approve his point was _NOT_ funny for Scooter who growled at both and made to get out of the bed when a nauseous feeling overtook him, forcing him to stay seated. Fluffing the pillows behind him and the blankets around his legs as a way of distracting himself from his stress and disorientation, the young man angrily punched the pillow twice before shoving it at his back again then crossed his arms in a fine huff. "Are you two done gabbin' at me? Can we be serious for a while? How the bloody Hells is this not serious, Alan? You have 8 ship berths! You are building a war fleet at accelerated speeds that nobody on Earth can match pace with! Explain to me **WHY** it's no big deal! NOW!"

The fourteen year old crossed his arms and legs, leaning back against the solid windows with Kayo and Virgil bracketing him comfortably. Say what you will, Virg was very cuddly and that muscle mass was a nice warm cushion to snuggle into when you had long family meetings. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to settle his boiling temper against the ' _baseless_ ' accusations from Scott, the youngest Tracy son prepared to reveal a few things unto his family that they had never suspected to date.

"Guys, International Rescue was about to be _shut down_. **Forcibly**." Alan spoke out clearly, making certain his words were simple and unambiguous. "Jefferson was at _drawn knives_ with almost every member state of the NATO Alliance and managed to make the leadership of the Balkanic Confederacy threaten to **shoot down the Thunderbirds** if he didn't retract some statements he made."

Scott could only gape incredulously at the revelation whilst his other three brothers were just as flabbergasted as him. Into that stupefied silence Hiram spoke in low tones: "It's true. I was there, in February, in the Island's office when he got into a shouting match with the head of the _Russian National Civilian Militias_ who wanted to establish **support & succor agreements** with IR similar to the Red Cross, Red Crescent, Magen David Adom in Israel and Doctors Without Borders. Jefferson went into a rage, spewing heinous nationalistic, racist vitriol as I never saw before. He said he would never help ' _godless red communist heathens_ ' who _'deserved their suffering_ ' as punishment for challenging **America – God's Chosen People**. He then accused the International Federation of Red Cross Partners of **going weak** , of betraying their ' _christian duty_ ' by siding with the enemies of ' _American Almight and Greatness_ '. Let us say that the men on the monitor were not impressed. When the President of the United States heard of it, he accused Jefferson of trying to spark an international incident. He gave him an _ultimatum_ : **make IR a public charity** with publicly accessible installations like the Red Cross or get shuttered by force. Half of NATO wanted him out of their national airspace until IR was public and without secrets at last. That was a big part of his devolving violence. He was fighting alone for supremacy against multiple teams of peoples and organizations he could never defeat."

Gordon asked in hushed tones "Is that why so many rescues went unanswered since March? I thought it was due to our declining health, to Scott, Virgil and me. I thought WE were to _blame_ because these innocent people weren't getting any help."

Hiram shook his head negatively before killing that idea. "No, child; Jefferson was in the process, since the assault on Alan in January and a bit before that even, of self-destructing himself, THI and IR right in front of my eyes. As always, I thought I was powerless to change the course of things, but then Alan stepped in to take control and there was change at last. For the better, I can assure you."

John blinked and asked, surprised "Hiram! You aren't stuttering! What happened?"

The elder Hackenbacker gazed at John's surprised expression, sighing as he was going to kill yet another part of their father. It couldn't be helped anymore. "I never needed to stutter. I grew out of that phase when I was much younger, when Fermat was about three years old, so nine years ago. But your father was used to me speaking a certain way, and he felt threatened by my intellect and capacities. I realized on the few times I spoke with him and didn't stutter that he got stressed, anxious and even threatened me verbally, going so far as to throw things at the wall to intimidate me. I realized he was exhibiting the same comportment as the bullish jocks in high school had: when afraid of something, intimidate and silence it so it doesn't realize it was them who were afraid. Jeff was the same; every thing that made him afraid, less mentally superior or less in control was to be beaten down and destroyed without mercy. So I learned to voluntarily stutter when in his presence, or yours, to hide from his vicious doggish reactions."

All four older Tracy siblings made diverse expressions of pain, shame and despondency at hearing how hurt by their father the man they considered as their protective, helpful uncle had been. Alan and Kayo kept quiet, sitting closely in the corner of the window seat with Tanu against the wall. Alan playfully leaned into her, using her lithe form as a cushion, much to her amusement. She was athletic and well built; the young adolescent wasn't that much of a weight against her. Besides, he was warm and caring so wrapping her arms around him to hold him in place wasn't a chore.

Several minutes passed by as the Tracy sons digested the last revelation about their father's depravities until Scott asked "I apologize Hiram, for not doing more sooner. Still, you were saying about NATO? How does that tie in with Alan's fleet? And don't tell me it isn't a war fleet! I was in the US Air Force and made lieutenant; I know a fighting outfit when I see one!"

The mentioned sibling continued his oft-cut explanation: "It means this, Scooter. The members of NATO, as state governments, in association with others in the Balkanic Confederacy, the Asia-Pacific Confederacy and the Pan-African Confederacy approached ASET to see if I had any of IR's technological capacities or an insight as to what Jeff was planning. This was happening already in October of last year and may explain why he was becoming erratic as far back as that. When it was proven that I did have several similar or better technologies, I began negotiating with NATO and the confederacies to build heavy intervention vehicles and operational emplacements across the planet in view of supplanting IR so it could get shuttered without causing harm to the population by it's closing savagely the way dad was preparing to do. He had begun adding layers to the self-destruct systems and refusing to aid or succor people even in those countries that still gave IR flight and landing rights."

Hiram nodded, adding gravely "Jefferson was sick in his mind, children. He wanted to go out in **a blaze of glory** before he no longer had control of his faculties or, sickeningly enough, of you and your faculties. It was among his greatest fears you know; to one day be seen as ' _lesser_ ' than his children, his ' **boys** ' whom he would _never see as men or adults_ as that would demean and devaluate his own adult power and station in life."

"Anyways" Alan spoke in, "I have been establishing multilateral accords with every country that I could reach and speak with on friendly terms, including the Balkanic Confederacy, to replace IR with my equipments, campuses and people so as to break off Jefferson's poisonous grip on their medical and rescue systems. With my help, the version of International Rescue that acted like an illegal black ops in the sewers and scrapyards of the people we helped has been laid to rest. We will no longer need to hide our faces, to act surreptitiously or dishonestly to bring help or hope ever again. The days when Jeff ran IR like a phantom military division of NASA has ended for ever. The **super duper hyper secret base** with cartoony gadgets, trap doors and chutes down twenty storeys to reach the ships will all burn down and the new IR will be administered with pragmatic, rational logic as its basic principle, not dementia and paranoid domination fueled by religious deviance."

Scott looked out the window, to the sunlight and the clouds, not truly understanding what he was hearing since it sounded too good, **too clean** and **too well wrapped-up** to be real. "So; no war, no army coming in or SWAT team tearing down the doors, just paperwork and contracts and admin until the End of Time. Is that it? Are we supposed to accept that answer? Can you really make it all go away like that? Those rifles and cannons out there aren't going to disappear, Alan! Somebody will see them and react! How soon before some white christian nazi like Jeff or another brown mook-mook with a turban declares a jihad because you are way to powerful for most governments to tolerate?"

The youngest son simply smiled a weak, tired smile at his oldest sibling and answered sadly "I can't answer that, Scott. Anymore than you can tell me when the next bastard walks aboard a US Air passenger jet at New York airport with plastic explosives in his shoes to blow up the plane in the name of ' _fighting the Great Satan of the West_ '. I am building the future. I am doing so with open heart and open hands, which is a lot more than Jeff could ever do or even say out loud to anybody. And, without that secrecy, illegality and backstabbing so inherent to the **Jeffersonian method** of dominating everybody in sight, I will manage to make more friends and keep them longer than he would. The rest, nobody can say what they would do, no matter what happens."

Tanusha integrated the conversation after keeping silent thus far. "At least, with the US President aware and kept appraised of the constructions and technological developments, there is almost no fear or resentment anymore. By selling his flying ships and machines to US Border & Customs as well as the Coast Guards, Alan has proven a valuable member of the **military-industrial complex** and a reliable ally unlike Jeff ever did. We will not be attacked or pushed to bankruptcy, Scooter. Calm down and see the evidence as it is shown to you. Things are supposed to get better from here now that Ruth and Jefferson are gone, not get bad in earnest again. Stop seeing, stop _inventing_ , problems and crises where there aren't any. There really is such a thing as a _happy ending_ , no matter what you were taught in recent years by your father and his rage."

The young woman's kind slightly accented english finally managed to lull Scott and his brothers to some sense of acceptance. It would take a long time before they really believed it all to be true, but in the meanwhile they would follow the flow. They didn't have choice and couldn't stop Alan anyways. Having proven quite publicly he would gas Scott in due cause, they didn't think it wise to challenge his hold and control over his company or machinery. Only pain and rage lay down that path.

 **At the close of the day**

 _(Thunderbirds are go! – rescue theme)_

 **Tuesday 29th of June, 2060; 19:37pm**

 **ASET home base; residential building,** _Tracy Penthouse_

 **Kansas City, Kansas, USA**

Dressed in light swim shorts and sandals since he was just back from the communal swimming pool in the building's ground floor, Gordon Cooper Tracy was humming rather off-key a pop tune the name of which he didn't even remember. He quickly finished the _pleasant_ chore of putting away his new clothes into the drawers of the dressers and wardrobe of his new bedroom. It would be his alone since Alan had quite generously planned his apartment with six rooms, one to each _sibling,_ with a large king-size bed in the middle surrounded by high quality furniture and a window seat on the exterior wall. Each room even had a mini-fridge, microwave oven and automated drinks brewer all integrated to the built-in unit that filled the wall between the doors to the en-suite and the closet. Gordon could honestly say that this room, while smaller in square footage than back at the island, was just as well appointed and comfortable. He would have Alan, Tanusha, Scott, John and Virgil for neighbors so the company wasn't too shabby either. Fermat had elected to share an apartment with his dad since they had never suffered from a bad relationship to begin with, something the adolescent could understand and even envy a bit.

The view from this height was hard to beat.

The residential building where the family's penthouse was located sat on the outer edge of the compound, nearer to the town than the rest of the industrial and manufacturing hangars on the estate. From his wide bay window, the 19 year old aquanaut could see some of the taller buildings in the Kansas City suburbs and even the rough outline of the gabled bell tower of the church next to the public grade school where they all went as children. Alan had, for reasons never explained, chosen to build ASET's main campus on the same side of town as the Tracy farmstead and the McVeigh Academy, just a bit south and farther out in the rural area.

Walking to the window, the teenager looked down the 19 storeys to the street level and the long, wide strip of green public park that he now knew hid a massive ship berth underneath. The vehicle was presently undergoing resupply and crew changes but would leave for its 7 day patrol route over the remote wilderness of Kansas at around 21:00pm. The airship ' _Domus Bestialis_ ' (the ' _House of Monsters_ ') was affected to the surveillance of wilderness tourism & hunting zones in the mountains and forests as a hovering search & rescue platform. Their primary job was to airlift forestry agents or S & R techs over to the intervention site faster than conventional Chinook helicopters could manage.

Gordon had seen the ship come down into the hangar at noon, the drab gray hull's form broken only by the guns and the colored ASET logo painted low on both sides of the hull to be seen from the ground when the airboat patrolled overhead. He had asked some of the security people what the ship did and how. The story had checked out as John had been less impressed with the machines and actually tried to go down there to speak with some of the crewmen and occasional passengers brought back at ASET-HQ from one of the many job sites that were active at the same time.

And that was whole other kettle of fish, too. This one single location of ASET company could maintain up to 16 flying airships in full operation by carefully scheduling the resupply stops the way that you hot-bunk crew when you have too few beds for the whole team of sailors on a small boat. When IR could barely manage 2 operations at the same time with its 4 agents without causing an accident, ASET's crews were composed of 90 to 120 people per ship multiplied by however many ships operated at the time. The **Operations Management Concourse** located in a deep underground bunker was staffed by 30 people full-time but could go up to 100 staffers depending on the level of activity at the time. It could have as much as 400 concurrent operations monitored in real-time with 32 under ASET's direct physical support **from this one base** at the same time. It was no wonder the US President and the Allies in NATO preferred dealing with Alan / ASET instead of IR's antiquated system that existed only to _inflate Jefferson's balls_ beyond all reason.

The young... Pilot? Rescuer? Aquanaut? He didn't know what he was anymore since T4 was gone in smoke just like **IR got disbanded by order of the GDF** , all it's operations and assets folded summarily into Alan's company which would be larger than Tracy Heavy Industries in barely two years if the projections held the road. **Snort!** Hiram did those predictions; _they would happen_.

Giving one last look at the skyline over Kansas City and the surrounding forests between there and ASET campus, the young man pulled on a psychedelically colored T-shirt then turned to the bed where he grabbed a folder of papers and images that he needed to work through for another therapy session tomorrow morning. His kid brother had already supplied them with psychotherapists to help them start the lengthy, painful process of extirpating their souls from the cold dead grasp of Jeff's memory, finally admitting to themselves that they were ' **survivors** ' of an _insane cult_. The guru's demented dystopic mirage and all the abuses and tortures that happened because of their father's quest for domination and control **wasn't their fault** , they hadn't _deserved_ any of it. They had done nothing to earn or merit such pain, shame and debasement. Now though, they had to find a way to convince themselves of that truth to finally be free.

Their newly appointed therapist had asked each young man, even Alan, to put in order several hundred pictures and medical reports covering all 5 siblings' histories while writing a commentary on the situations that caused the events documented in the files. These commentaries would be the basis on which the therapist would guide the assistance and recovery process of each person. It would also help when the brothers had group sessions for them to see, hear and feel what the other siblings had experienced during a shared event. Even more crucial, it would allow the entire group to hear about and explore events that had been isolated and hidden by Jeff so he could lie about it to the family.

Making a playful moue of distaste, the 19 year old sat at the desk, enjoying the comfortable, luxurious chair that could pivot, rock back & forth, elevate or even adjust heat/coolness and massage the person with integrated moving rollers inside the cushions. It was really a sinful piece of furniture for a simple bedroom but he certainly enjoyed it, especially with his entire body completely healed and free of any pains that didn't result from swimming or running too much during his daily exercise. No, the real problem was the damn ' _homework_ ' in front of him. He had really thought he was done with the stuff when he started working for IR full time at age 17 after recovering from the WASP hydrofoil accident and then participating in the Olympics since he never registered for any collegiate classes of any sorts.

Stupid shrink. Oh well; supposedly it really was ' _for his own good_ ' this time around.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Scott Carpenter Tracy carded a weary hand through his short black hair, trying with all his remaining strength to focus his sky-blue eyes on the sheets in front of him. The columns of dates and phone numbers had begun blurring an hour ago and now seemed to be swirling around and merging as if being processed through a blender like pancake batter. Closing his eyes and giving it up for the night, the young adult leaned back into the comfortable chair and laid his head on the headrest, enjoying the support of the thick plush cushion. A flick of a finger had the massage rollers active on a soft setting, gently vibrating along his spine and nape to diffuse relief through his stressed nerves.

He had been an _idjiot_ of the most consummate kind, and was now paying for it in _pain_.

Scooter had not believed everything told by Alan, Tanusha or even Hiram about the decisions of the GDF, NATO and the major partners of the USA to _shutter and terminate_ International Rescue. That led him to make an incredibly foolhardy request that Alan had accepted with a wide smirk. The first son had asked to see the financial reports and inventory closing on IR as well as the print-outs of **ALL** faxes, emails and phone calls between Jefferson and the nations or groups that IR had to work with to operate.

He shouldn't have asked, _poor fool_ that he was.

There weren't any paper print-outs just because the sheer size of storage room needed to fit it all would take the equivalent of SEVEN of Thunderbird 2's cargo modules! Instead they had given him the closest equivalent: access to the original data files since they had ripped out the main computer core from the Tracy Villa and the backup servers out of Matteo Island. Hiram had plugged the obsolete IR servers into the ASET grid and re-coded the security levels to give all 5 Tracy brothers, Tanusha and Fermat access equal to that of Jefferson and himself so they could root through the mess and see for themselves the ugly truths that had been hidden. The papers on Scott's bedroom desk were the only solid copies recovered; all from **Jefferson's own desk** and filing cabinets in his office at the moment of the seizure of assets... _Of ASET_...? _By ASET_...?

 **Fuck!** What does the damned diction matter now anyways?

After just three hours of sifting through the loosely collected sheets from the actual notepads and binders that Jeff kept strewn around his chaotic work space, Scooter was ready to rip out his hair with both hands and not stop till he was bald. The geriatric, senile, demented old **TRAITOR** had **repeatedly refused** the offers of the GDF or NATO to _lend personnel or equipments to IR_ during especially difficult missions. That refusal went on even when he knew that the **lives and health** of his own sons would be endangered by lack of hands or machines to stabilize falling buildings or sinking oil platforms in rough seas.

Jeff had wanted to experience the ' **heroic high** ' of the _adrenaline rush_ vicariously through his sons and didn't really care if they came back hurt or handicapped. It was written _black-on-white_ in his handwritten **mission commander's logbook** ( _diary_ ) he had started 3 years ago when IR made its debut on the world stage. He was no longer physically capable of going out and doing the ' **Great Deeds** ' himself anymore so his sons would go for him. Since it wouldn't be HIS face in the news, he obliged them to wear opaque helmets and never identify otherwise than ' _IR Operative #_ ' so they didn't **steal the spotlight** away from his old accomplishments from 20 years ago.

Everything in his diary said it out loud for any who read it; Jeff decided by how macho, manly and powerful he would look in the end, and damn the consequences for anybody else. The mixture of racism, nationalism, religion and flat-out fascistic rhetoric that comprised the writings would give ulcers to a Nazi schutzstaffel officer because it was so **damned messed up** , _disoriented_ and _utterly unguided_. Their dad had been truly, certifiably senile in his last few years of life as was attested by the writings he left behind for his descendants.

The man had been far more militaristic than he let on in public; he had wanted all his children to attend _religiously-oriented_ military academies then serve in the real army until age 22 at which point he would bring them back to his domain to **re-break them to his will and creed**. Like a medieval bishop in a cloistered monastery, he had elaborated this cockamamie plan by which each ' _boy_ ' would be made to go on a solo rescue mission like an old ' _paladin quest_ ' to save a young woman aged 14 to 18. The girl would be brought back to the secret island utopia of ' _Pure American Faith_ ' to be **broken, trained and forcibly engrossed** with the next generation of Tracy warrior-healers. If the children born were healthy enough and the girl _submissive enough_ by Jefferson's standards, she could be granted the status of ' _wife_ ' to the son that had found her. That is, if the young man actually wanted her for anything else than _relief_ and _toying_ with. Jeff, him, had no need of these girls passed procreating his exalted army of **Worshipful Warriors of Redemptive Succor** to make his Legacy unto the World into something _Eternal and Unequaled_.

Tears flowed anew from Scotty's closed eyes as he realized his father saw them all as nothing but dumb, indocile cattle to be prodded, beaten and zapped until they followed orders blindly, even to the point of criminality and treason against the entire humanity. Their mother Lucille must be turning in her grave at the sight of what her husband had degenerated into after her passing. Like a bad case of post-partum depression left untreated, Jeff's grief at his widowing had gone unchecked and devolved into this miasma of pain, injury, shame and debasement without any hope of stopping on its own.

From what Scott saw, the reasons Jefferson didn't go all the way with his plans to forcibly breed an army was that their mother Lucille had set up a **trust fund for each child** as they were born. It was the trust that paid for the schooling and life expenses most of the time. The trust lawyers were under instructions to **NEVER** _let her children be forcibly enrolled into either military or cultist systems_ for any reason whatsoever. They had instructions to **sue Jeff and rip the kids out of his arms** if he ever tried something like that. Also, the trust fund managers should have intervened to make each boy go through a _full medical check-up_ twice a year, especially since they had all attended boarding schools and those were not always safe. Why that never happened, why the lawyers suddenly disappeared into the mists and were never heard from again would need investigation soon. Alan's injuries at the least could have been prevented if those hirelings had done their jobs in the last 4 years as contracted.

The coldest, most unvarnished truth was that without external intervention, they would have died.

Their spirits would have gone first, then their bodies as either the multiple injuries from beatings and botched rescues took a toll, or suicide claimed their damaged, unworthy lives as they detached from an existence they no longer wanted. In either case, from what Scott lived in the last 3 years and more, Jefferson's plans for a _chattel of female slaves_ and _little soldiers_ of the **White Painted Cross of the True & Pure *Hammerrikas*** ( _sarcastic germanic accent & Nazi salute included_) would never have managed to go beyond the four oldest sons. Given how suicidal they had already been whilst Alan was still only 14 years old, Jeff would have annihilated his family and scuttled IR long before getting even one son to reproduce, even by forced methods.

Standing up from the desk's chair, the eldest Tracy sibling quickly kicked off his sneakers then stripped off what few clothes he had worn inside the regulated climate of the residential building. Giving the barest look at the door of the bedroom to make sure it was locked, the 25 year old took off his boxers and walked naked into the en-suite for an _emergency shower_. He needed to rinse off the oily sheen of immorality and depravity left on his skin by reading the last dregs of his dead father's sordid legacy. After that, he planned to soak in the jetted tub for some much needed hydrotherapy, with all the lights closed to spare his eyes and aching head from further pain. After an hour long soak, he'd dry off and go outside for a walk around the compound, maybe even go for a beer at the little tavern that was on campus two streets away from the edifice. A walk in open air, a hearty hot meal and a pint of stout ale in decent company just might take his hurting, sullied mind off the trash he had been made aware of.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

John Glenn Tracy walked around the perimeter of the large open room, appreciating the wide panoramic views offered by the three bay windows and their bench-seats. This was nothing short of a great room like in an old estate manor in England. Alan had certainly showed a sense of design and a flair for decoration in how he assembled his residential area for the family.

This was the ' _living_ ' room of their shared penthouse and it was at the very end of the rectangular building thus allowing one single room to have large windows on three sides of the structure; the front, the right side and the rear. The official ' _front_ ' of the apartment tower faced inside towards the middle of the ASET compound while the rear looked out towards Kansas City's outlying areas. The right-side of the building overlooked a small portion of the compound's residential and commercial zone then a lot of forested lands dotted with an occasional homestead.

When they came from the hospital and chose their rooms, Alan and Tanusha were already in place since the construction of the tower, thus leaving the others to pick from the open rooms. Given their emotional states of despair and still resisting the changes they saw, Scott and Gordon had taken bedrooms facing towards the city, away from the harsh, unyielding realities of ASET and Alan's power on this Earth. Virgil and John took rooms on the front without any issues as they were comfortable and close to their siblings enough to maintain family atmosphere without crowding each other.

The layout of the bedrooms had made Scott grind his teeth at yet another example of just how powerless he had become in his life. Alan had the front-left corner while Kayo had the rear-left corner and the two rooms were separated only by a wall as the corridor between the rooms stopped at a triangular cul-de-sac where the doors of the two principal bedrooms were set. When visited, it was shown that the two connex ' _master suites_ ' had a segmented mobile wall between them that could be opened to remove almost three quarters of the separation between the two abodes.

Alan and Tanusha had their own sanctuaries which they shared with nobody but **each other**.

Despite grumblings about Ally's setup, the four brothers considered themselves to be lucky to be so well housed and cared for after all the damages and suffering they endured. They also knew how lucky they were that _Alan was practically a damned saint_ to forgive them so much violence, abuse and having been too weak to stop it to spare him. But still, Scott had almost blown a gasket when he saw how much bigger and better furnished the master suites were compared to the others. Alan's toxic reply of " _Is it the furnishings or my permanent easy access to Tanu's bed that has you steamed up?_ " had truly lit the powder keg. Scooter had passed almost 24 hours in his room, even meals, before coming out calm enough to interact with them without causing a riot.

The fact that Kayo had been laughing at his reaction right to his face had not helped.

In truth though, it had taken almost as long for Virgil to stop teasing Ally and Kayo about their _cozy little setup_ or begging them to know if he could name their first-born kid. Smirking a bit at the memory, John had to admit that his siblings were making a whole lot of hooplah out of not much. Even if, by some happenstance, Alan and Tanusha did do anything sexual, then it would be in the course of their relationship, and none of their business anyways. Well, not passed the point of sibling teasing, of course. What's life without a little _siblin' ribbin'_ from time to time?

Standing here in the wide open room, John could almost feel as if he were in one of Five's observation bays, slowly floating around indolently, waiting for an alert or message to draw him away from his meditative contemplation. Closing his gentle aqua eyes, the 23 year old astronaut let appear a soft smile on his features, feeling the calm of the apartment seep through him. At long last, he could feel it, he could internalize and accept it; Jefferson was gone and so was his violence, his anger and rage and constant belittlement of others.

Jonny opened his eyes again, looking to the sunset, noticing just how beautiful it was at this height over the skyline of Kansas City and the forests around. Sitting in the massive blue sectional couch that faced towards the center of the apartment's common areas, the young man asked out loud "Rada; music, soft ambient volume please. Load my folio from my smartphone and play the classics randomly until told otherwise. Thank you."

"Yes John; loading files and initiating surround speakers as soft meditative ambiance." The artificial intelligence system answered, frightfully smart and complex for such a creation. Fermat's work, if Alan's proud explanation was to be believed. He had a project to activate the _Rada Management AI_ in all his facilities and ships by the end of next year, if all went according to plans.

The lanky young astronaut no longer cared though. He was halfway asleep already, lying down on the full width of the sectional as he was, head on the cushy armrest, the gentle last rays of sunset caressing him with promises of a better tomorrow to come.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Virgil Grissom Tracy walked around the perimeter of the private rooftop terrace that was reserved for the Tracy family's exclusive usage. There were two staircases leading up to the level; the main public stairs / elevator core that ran the entire building and then the private decorative cast iron spiral stairs that joined the apartment's kitchen to the outdoors kitchen with its massive red brick wood burning barbecue. Virg was salivating at the thought of all the steak, chicken and corn dogs they would be roasting on those flames in the coming weeks.

Dressed in his oldest but comfortable dark blue jeans, white T-shirt and red checkered flannel shirt worn completely unbuttoned since the warm climate was so nice, The young man strolled the sodded terrace barefoot without a care in the world. His baby brother, backed by Hiram and Kayo, had answered all the pressing questions and then done them a solid favor by housing them under his roof when by all rights he should'a dropped 'em in the ocean and forgotten they lived.

Sitting on a well placed patio sofa near a cheerily burning firepit filled with pine logs, the 21 year old couldn't help but see the flames as an allegory of the Hells they had escaped, small and insignificant compared to the wide expanse or free sunset skies that surrounded him. The efforts and hardships needed to affect the escape had been horrendous and left them all scarred in multiple ways but they would recover. It would take time, but it would happen. Virgil could already see the small signs that the Tracy brothers' resilience was asserting itself over the dramatic changes in their lives.

Extending his hands to the flames in the red brick firepit, the young man smiled an honest, free smile that made his face seem much younger than his age and physical size would let you believe he was. Letting his gentle amber-colored eyes roam over the skyline of Kansas City's suburbs and outlying farmlands, the middle child of the family felt it in his bones; a deep, silent but strong current of peace and satisfaction that could only mean one thing.

 **Home.**

Taking in a deep breath of the odoriferous steam wafting from the burning pine logs, Virgil got up and walked to the stairs leading down to the kitchen. He would raid the pantry and fridge to grill himself a supper worthy of somebody his size and shape. The others had skipped dinner for varied reasons, including absence form the penthouse, but that didn't mean Virgil had to starve anymore unlike what Jeff and Ruth would have ordered. The young adult smirked happily as he passed both hands over his jeans-clad butt as he walked, relishing the ability to walk and sit freely without paralyzing pain or having such limited mobility that he would have needed to use the elevator to go down the one floor barely a week ago.

Those Hackenbacker's and their inventions sure were a prize to keep!

"Well, no use worrying about my hams anymore, it's steak I want roasted tonight!" Virgil playfully joked at himself in gallows' humor as he climbed down the ornate ' _industrial chic_ ' styled spiral stairs towards his goal. As he alighted in the small corridor that held the powder room, laundry room and garbage / recycling cubicle, he heard the soft classical music that John used to play to get drowsy for a long night when he had trouble getting to sleep. Walking into the kitchen proper, he was able to see over the breakfast bar the well styled blond hair of his brother and his pale white skin against the deep blue felt of the couch.

Virgil could hear the soft breathing of the sleeping older brother from where he was and thought about waking him or even looking for the others to offer them a common evening on the terrace. Then he thought better of it. They all needed some space to decompress and accept the finality of the changes in their lives, along the therapy to help rebuild their sense of self and worth. Getting new jobs would wait a few weeks as Alan wasn't in a hurry to kick them to the curb if they didn't do something productive.

Smirking devilishly, the third son decided to keep quiet like Kayo and filch some grub from the kitchen to grill in the open night sky. It would fill the hole in his stomach and the simple gestures of cooking, eating then cleaning up would be good for his sense of normality in a family home. Rifling through the huge commercial refrigerator, Virgil grabbed a frozen slab of steak, a plastic container of bacon slices, a bag of ' _grill-mix_ ' fresh vegetables, a plastic jar of butter, spices and condiments then tip-toed back to the base of the stairs so he could make his getaway cleanly.

Virgil wasn't afraid of his _older_ brothers getting violent with him anymore. It wasn't a spanking or whipping he feared but the much more dreaded ' _ravenous sibling rampage_ ' on his meager provisions before he could even taste the first bite of his own cooking. Whilst he loved his brothers, he would freely admit most of them could only cook enough to stay alive, not actually make eating an enjoyable experience. And that meant that all of them would descend like merciless vultures on the culinary efforts of anyone stupid enough to cook in their immediate vicinity, hence the reason Jeff had hired Onaha and Kyrano as full-time staff for the villa.

Softly chortling, Virg reminded himself how Gordon's stand-by of ' _fish-on-a-stick-in-flames_ ' was actually the more palatable option compared to John's ' _microwave-until-glowing_ ' or Scott's military-style ' _kill it with fire!_ ' approach to pretty much anything supposed to be ingestible. The ex-pilot of T2 couldn't remember how Alan cooked anything but then again Jeff had never really tolerated that the kid move around the villa much so maybe he never developed any of the bad habits the others had. One could only hope. Suddenly smiling wickedly, the brawny young man huffed in good humor as he told himself that training Alan in the more ' _domestic_ ' aspects of life was Tanusha's problem, not theirs anymore. She caught him; she could raise the kid to her standards and _enjoy_ the result!

Back on the terrace, the athletic young male placed his bounty on the stainless steel counter by the sink and then went hunting for logs, tinder and matches to light up that grill. The large cast iron grate was just begging for hot glowing embers underneath and sizzling meat on top. Given the least bit of a chance, the black haired boy would have that barbecue _hotter than Kayo in a bathing suit_ in a jiffy! The muscular youth enjoyed his slow paced solitary evening, even the cleanup, then went to bed genuinely happy for the first time in about 14 months, hoping real hard it would continue.

 **{ TB } - {** **PiQ** **} - { TB }**

Alan Sheppard Evans Tracy was **not happy**.

Dressed in a fine 3-piece night blue business suit with bow tie, shined brown leather loafers on his feet and expensive leather briefcase in hand, he looked exactly like the influential power broker that he was.

 **He hated it.** With several different passions, in fact.

Dressing up like this made him feel like he was copying Jefferson instead of being his own self. That feeling stayed with him during each and every meeting he had to endure all day long from 07:00am until just passed 20:00pm when the last gormless, self-important idiot left the conference room.

Since the death of Jeff and the closing of IR, there had been many different emergencies to attend so that his family could have a peaceful, healthy life together. All of today's in-person meetings and conferences were with **politicians** from Kansas City's town hall, Kansas State government's departments of Industry  & Sciences, and of course Washington DC's dept. of Justice all lined up with their hand held out for contributions or political support of some sorts. Despite the **completely legal situation** that Alan, his brothers and their companies had, _NOT giving money or support_ could see some stupid menial little polito pushing **law changes to tear apart their family** just based on prejudices against their young ages. Alan now had to play the _high-level politics game_ for his siblings since none of them were healthy enough or mentally stable enough to do it as they should.

Unbeknownst to the older siblings, there were quite a few **religious bastards** clamoring at the gates of Washington DC and the Kansas Rotunda to get their mitts on _ASET Homesteading Co._ and Alan himself in order to funnel Tracy cash to their pockets and the missionary activities of their cults. Some of these sects were rather large and _very motivated_ given the potential payday if they succeeded even just partially.

In fact, Ally had just heard from his lawyers this very day that several lesser courthouses around the USA were presented with **false litigations** by ' _defenders of children's morality and godliness_ ', meaning **mini-churches** , to try and wrestle legal guardianship of Alan away from his brothers, Hiram or the lawyers for the trust funds his mother set up for just such a situation. In those cases, the goal of these _minor liars_ was even more transparent; they'd bark until paid to be silent then go away. It was a **basic extortion scam** by which they threatened to join with a larger, better funded church-group to hijack Alan unless " _They were shown_ **respect** _for the causes and works of the Faith and Creed_ ".

It was unfortunate for these imbeciles that Alan had more money, personnel, equipment, connections and nasty attitude in his warehouses than what he could figure out what to use it all for. He'd think of something or ask Kayo and Fermat for ideas, then things would get truly nasty. In the meanwhile, Alan had ordered ASET's litigation department to find and investigate the lawyers for Lucille's trust fund scheme. They had disappeared about four years ago without leaving traces and that smelled of Jeff's _deleterious interference_ in the processes. Probably his mafia contractors hard at work. Ally wanted to know why his mother's Last Will had been _disregarded like trash_ without any rebuttals from the law firm of record; then people would **suffer** for that crime.

On top of that, his corporate lawyers would start working with ASET's investigation department to sniff around the church whores and their cults of defective retards to see what the _REAL threat levels_ were then submit the reports to him for decision. In some cases, a few publicly stated verbal threats or lodging counter-suit in court would be enough. In others, giving to the US Justice Dept. the proof that the church-funded lawsuits had been _fraudulent at the onset_ could see sanctions against the cult and its lawyers to deter further extortion or harassment from their part. Some of the bigger fanatical sects that owned a _private army to_ **wield violence** _as a tool of conversion_ would receive a ' **special visit** ' from an airship in the dead of night.

At this point, Alan had already gone _off-the-books_ and authorized four **full-scale strikes** on remote compounds located in the mountainous desert wilderness near the Mexico borderline. Those were **nihilistic cults** , Doomsday apostles that wanted to steal ASET's weapons technology to then forcibly convert every village and town around them in a fiery crusade of war and devastation. All four were neo-nazi inspired and reminded him far too much of Jefferson's hidden plans for his sons and descendants to let Alan sleep at night when he knew they existed.

Several other _mini-church_ extortion attempts would be **terminated** by the bullet of a sniper through the head of the only living preacher of the congregation. In some cases, in family-run sects that operated clannishly outside the regular laws of humanity, a shoulder-held rocket fired into the prayer hall during one of the multiple ritual gatherings could eradicate the problem all at once without leaving any successors to take up the cause and continue to threaten the Tracy brothers any longer.

There was one particular cult whose **army of gurus** would need a bigger, _deadlier message_ to finally understand that the Tracy's were not interested in joining their **worshiping regiments** and would not finance or politically support them either.

The damned USA-based **church of Scientology** had mandated an entire firm of lawyers backed by private investigators and _armed mercenaries_ , all Scientology adepts for decades, to harass, assault and tear apart the **feel of safety** , public facade and reputation of the entire Tracy Family. The whole church-apparatus had, just this morning, whelmed their privately-run cult magazines and broader public medias along creating Facebook pages and websites dedicated to organizing public opinion and political response against the bereaved siblings if they didn't respond in the way ' **commanded divinely** ' by the ecclesiastes. Their goal was to intimidate the family until they caved in to the church leadership's extortion which threatened to have ' **sympathetic judges** ' give them custody of Alan ( _and his financial holdings_ ) in order to insure his education in a ' _spiritual and moral_ ' way. They wanted the incredibly influential and connected Tracy's for public support of their missionary works, money and personal appearance at events for rich donors to influence other people of similar social stature into giving money and political support as well.

Alan would need to plan the response to their efforts much more carefully, given the size, money on-hand and number of active adepts the church could use in the fight. Also, the Scientology adepts were well known for their **absolute rejection of human laws** and court rulings. They would publicly bow but then work behind the scenes to destroy the judges and prosecutors, going so far as to plant evidence or commit actual crimes while impersonating the individual they wanted to harm. Extortion scams, threats and physical attacks against the relatives of policemen, prosecutors, judges and politicians were ordinary everyday activities for _scientologists_ so Alan would have to be extra careful in how he planned then carried out his retaliations against this depraved cult of addled retards. **Killing the head of the church** and the directors of the departments was a given; it remained to see the ' _how_ ' and ' _when_ '.

Taking off his bow tie, jacket and waistcoat, Alan rolled his shirt sleeves and tapped the keypad on the wall inset drinks brewer to prepare himself a small coffee to tide him over until the full meal he had ordered delivered to his office suite arrived. He had a lot to process and several far-reaching strategic decisions to make before going to sleep tonight. He'd be lucky to get back home before 02:00am as things were. Planning for several _multi-front wars_ at the same time wasn't easy and Tanu was away until morning. It's not like he could ask The Mechanic for ' _subtle plans_ ' as the bloke didn't have a clue what subtlety looked like.

Oh well, as long as Kayo was back for breakfast, he'd find a way to handle things.

 **Family affairs**

 _(Frederich Chopin – Funeral March)_

 **Tuesday 29th of June, 2060; 22:14pm**

 **The Monk's Hood;** _Trangh Bellegant's aerial flagship_

 **South Pacific Ocean**

Kyrano Bellegant sneered in fearful contempt at the blurry outline of the **shadowy figure** standing immobile in the partially lit vestibule of the small luxurious stateroom he shared with his wife Onaha.

They had been incarcerated at gun point by the men of Alan's private army almost a week ago on Tracy Island and then forced to go to their own miniature villa to pick up basic necessities for long term relocation. Having neither choice nor the possibility of escape versus the flying fortress that was the ' _Domus Amato_ ' looming in the background, they had complied submissively.

The couple had been taken by motorboat first to a militarized sea-faring ship of large tonnage and indistinct usages idling behind Matteo Island whence they were promptly loaded onto a shuttlecraft equipped with IR's _gravitic_ _hover-engine_ technology but in a model they never saw before. The small flying vehicle brought them here, to this massive aerial ship that was misshapen like a flying oil rig platform lying on its side. The beastly vessel slowly sailed the airspace over the southern regions of the Pacific Ocean as witnessed by the vague outline of the Tahiti Islands when the sun was high enough and the clouds not too thick.

Of course, Kyrano and Onaha both knew who their unlawful, monstrous jailer was; only one person would ever think it normal to hold THEM in such plush, elegant _gaol_ as this while also having placed armed guards at the door and electronic monitoring bracelets on the prisoners.

Trangh Bellegant; their younger brother, also called **The Hood** in criminal segments of society.

The **shadow** emerged from the frame of the thick vestibule door with the silent fluid movements proper to assassins and _traitors_ , letting the automated panel close behind him with a hush of compressed air. As always, he was dressed impeccably in in the best of modern British finery. A well pressed bespoke 3-piece suit from Saville Row tailored from night-black velours with opaque red lapels on the jacket to make a resplendent contrast with the white Oxford shirt. He had accessorized with a gold hued long tie pinned at his shirt collar by a ruby broach, a golden cloth handkerchief in his jacket pocket and ruby-capped gold cuff-links would scintillate in the soft lights of the room when he moved his arms.

Those same soft lights played shadow games about his smooth bald head and thin eyebrows as his naturally gold colored eyes gazed with opaque unyielding serenity at the seated, immobile figures. What surprised the two adults seated on the settee was the emergence of a second **shadowy figure** from behind the _master-criminal_.

The tall lithe figure was quite obviously female as evidenced by her body shape that was identifiable despite the drab gray and black, thickly armored flight suit she wore. The heavy helmet was closed with an opaque faceplate that did not permit to identify the person and she wore thick protective gloves matching the suit so her hands were not visible either. Despite all this camouflage and secrecy, the two scared parents could think of only one woman Trangh would want to have at his side in this cruel, depraved moment.

Kyrano frowned, squinting his naturally golden-colored eyes at the woman's head, using the rare and mysterious powers gifted unto his bloodline by the Gods and Ancestors of his clan. **Psionics** , the Europeans and Americans called it. **Spirit-craft** or **Life Shinto** , the Asians preferred to call it. It didn't matter as it was essentially the same capacities and results. Kyrano was able to get an ' _empathic_ ' sense of the person and confirm their worse fears. The **END** had come and they would suffer this night.

At the woman's harsh gesture, four armed masked guards rushed into the room and grabbed the two treasonous relatives, handcuffing them roughly before dragging them out of the suite and down into the bowels of the massive ' _Monk's Hood_ ' towards the principal cargo bay.

 **{ TB } - {** **Family history** **} - { TB }**

 _(Two Steps From Hell - Blackheart)_

 **Cargo bay; 22:38pm**

This was the worse nightmare that Kyrano and Onaha could ever live to see happen.

They were made to kneel on the hard metal deck plates just on top of the ship's ventral drop doors, their arms bound behind their backs then linked to their ankles and finally attached to a heavy disk of solid iron weighing 250 pounds. They were unable to do more than squirm and move their heads around to see inside the vast cavernous hangar, something they dearly wished they had been spared.

 **The jury to judge and sentence them had been assembled; they would get no mercy this night.**

Trangh stood stock still besides a large decorative throne made of tempered steel covered in gold damasks and inlaid rubies that represented the Bellegant Clan crest. Strangely enough the seat was wide enough for two adults to sit at the same time, something the two prisoners couldn't see a reason for yet. Their ignorance was quickly resolved when the armored woman standing by his side put her forearm in front of her and flicked a few controls on the PDA mounted on the armguard. The lights throughout the hangar came on to full strength, letting the full contents be seen at last.

 **The Bellegant and Iruthras clans had come together to obtain justice at long last.**

Walking slowly from amongst the small crowd of about twenty persons were two elderly persons, one male and one female. Before their disbelieving eyes, Kyrano's mother and Onaha's father came forth to sit on the throne side by side, glaring at their **disinherited** , forsaken kin all the time.

Once the elders were seated, the armored woman besides Trangh came forth and took off her helmet, revealing the smooth sallow skin, long black hair and cold golden eyes of their daughter, _Tanusha Anahad Iruthras Bellegant_. Glaring malevolently upon the felons that betrayed her combined families nineteen years ago, the young woman hung her helmet on one of the decorative pikes on the backrest of the throne then removed the gloves to hang them on her utility belt. There were no signals exchanged before the informal trial began.

Trangh stepped forward, gazing scornfully at his blood-born brother and _sister-in-law twice-over_ , letting his utter contempt wash over them like cold autumn rain. He began to speak in his suave, nasal voice that enthralled the audience as he exposed the sins, crimes and treason of his brother.

"You shall be informed of a seldom known fact outside our little community; that being most of the marriages are arranged by the parents or grand-parents at a young age to insure the continuity of the bloodlines and mutual prosperity for the entire village. Thirty years ago, both of the most respected and wealthy clans of the community, the Bellegant and Iruthras, had two children close in age. One had two sons and the other had two daughters. As was the custom for so many centuries, the parents arranged twin marriages to bind the next three generations of the two notable families to create stability in the village for a hundred years and allow sustained growth."

Trangh scowled nastily at his brother as he paused, before continuing. "As eldest of the two sons, Kyrano inherited the ancestral titles, land deeds and three quarters of the liquid money from both families. As the ' _lesser_ ' second son, I inherited the _leftover_ money, one parcel of land with a modest ranch-style dwelling and two small commercial garages specialized in airplane mechanics and oil rig equipments."

"Originally, Kyrano led the **big life** in our village with his money and beautiful wife, lording it over myself and my younger, _much plainer_ wife, Rikuta. However, Kyrano had no business sense whatsoever and was ill-suited to giving orders nor any leadership position at all. In six years, he had lost half of his money and properties in _failed business ventures_ or by lending to _so-called friends_ that disappeared away from the small village never to return, in effect stealing from him and the entire family at the same time. Conversely, I was a natural leader whose vast ambition was moderated by prudence and the fact Rikuta and I had no cushion to fall-back on if I failed. Therefore my few ventures, costly but tightly managed, grew and prospered greatly in those same six years, allowing me to invest in more activities and grow even more to the point I started buying back the lands lost by my inept brother, to Kyrano's **humiliation**."

"At that time, Kyrano was _shamed beyond bounds_ before the eyes of our parents and in-laws since he was unable to **account truthfully WHY** all the riches inherited from BOTH families had withered away like water in the sunlight. This was compounded by the pride the elders felt at my success in _recovering what was lost_ then improving and growing them as Kyrano should have done. Everything came to a head when two separate but linked events happened at the same time."

 **"Firstly;** after six years of trying to have children, Kyrano and Onaha decided to go to Los Angeles, in California in the USA, to see a doctor to figure out why they were not conceiving. In that same clinic, they accidentally met **Jefferson and Lucille Tracy** who were trying to see if they could safely have a daughter at some point. Lucille's pregnancy and birthing of Virgil had been hard on her health and their family doctor in Kansas City had doubts about her ability to give birth again without complications which was grave as she was already pregnant with Gordon. While the meeting at the time seemed _innocuous_ , it would become _determinant_ in later months, as I will expose to you all."

"At the fertility & maternity clinic in California, Kyrano learned that his wife Onaha was **born infertile** ; they would never have children other than by adoption. **Shamed again** , the couple went back to face their families in our home village in Thailand, unaware that further suffering awaited them. Barely an hour after settling in their large rich abode, the couple were summoned by the clan elders to receive momentous news: myself and Rikuta were expecting a baby girl inside of seven months."

 **"Secondly;** atop this _devastating news_ to the grieving couple, they were told of my latest and exceptional business success. I had purchased a piece of wild land hoping to find oil or natural gas but the unstable terrain had instead yielded something else that was precious. The prospection team had uncovered a field of rubies, as proven by the handful of raw gems I had brought back for all our relatives to see. The future of the entire combined family was now insured since I had already begun offering jobs to my cousins, aunts, uncles and such in my brand new company. At that point, **DARKNESS** entered the heart of Kyrano, never to leave."

Trangh paused, lips pursed as he ordered his thoughts and controlled his emotions. What came next was the hardest part of all and Tanusha's friends, her _spirit-siblings_ , had absolutely nothing to do with it, especially in light of what was learned of their treatment at Jeff Tracy's hands.

"Kyrano had kept the business card given to him by Jeff Tracy with his coordinates at Tracy Heavy Industries. He offered me to call the man and see about purchasing the digging and rock sorting machinery for my new mine. Foolishly, I trusted him and allowed him a large authority with a big salary inside my organization, despite his meager managerial performances. This was mostly to buy peace with our own parents and the in-laws. I then promptly hired an accountant who would specifically hold the main office and ' _discretely_ ' revise the orders Kyrano gave to catch his mistakes before they ruined the mine."

"After speaking with Jeff on the vidphone several times, Kyrano discovered that the older man had a nasty character, violent temperament and unbridled ambitions that would take a lot of money to fuel unto accomplishment. He offered Jeff the monetary key to his success; the ruby mine. Together, the felonious traitors hatched a plan by which Jeff would remotely reprogram the digging machines to work along a mining scheme different from the one the local engineers would elaborate. The tunnels would have dangerously thin walls and separations between levels to weaken the entire underground structures until they collapsed from their own unsupported weight."

"The profit would be in hand when I and Rikuta died inside the mine during an executive visit. After a suitable grieving period was over, Kyrano and Onaha would take Tanusha into their home by adoption and **inherit almost everything** ever owned by me, my wife and our daughter. At which point, Jeff would profit greatly himself since Kyrano would rent him the mining concession at the **favorable rate of 7%** of the ruby production's worth in money. Jefferson jumped on the _poor fool's_ offer since mining claims were **usually leased at 30%** or more and certainly **never under 20%** , even to blood-born family. If the _incompetent mongrel_ wanted to **give away** his home and riches, far from the cultist tyrant Jefferson the obligation to educate or stop him."

"Kyrano's plan went _foul-ball_ from the onset. I am suspicious by nature and always toured the mine in person at least once a week during working hours to speak with all the important workers, especially the engineers, architects and machinery operators. During one crucial visit where I was accompanied by my wife and newborn daughter on our way to visit the grand-parents, Kyrano's continuous business ineptitude struck again. The accountant tasked with surveillance had seen **VERY large money payments** towards Tracy Heavy Industries despite all the machines and services being fully paid already. I have always taken industrial mortgages with known banks to pay for new developments or growth, I have never financed my purchases of lands or machinery through the supplier's credit margins due to the exorbitant interest rates they charged. Therefore, these payments were _not normal_."

"We began an audit of the mine's books and management the very moment I heard this. Kyrano was warned by one of our cousins who was also very jealous of my successes and was **generously paid** by Kyrano to spy for him; at that point, the oldest son **panicked**. He remotely took over _manual control_ of three automated diggers and began to systematically destroy the foundations beneath the office buildings that were located on the surface, outside the tunnels. As the ground's unsteadiness and creaking noises increased, I told Rikuta to take our child and leave the complex, to head for the grand-parents at all speeds and call the village police for assistance."

"Rikuta never managed to take poor little baby Tanusha from my arms as the office floor opened under her feet as a sinkhole dropped out from under the building, cracking the floor and swallowing everything in the room except me who was standing in the door frame with a baby my hands. I barely had the time to throw Tanusha's fragile little body to a passing worker, screaming pleas at him to save my daughter as the rim of the hole in the floor, weakened beyond saving, expanded and dropped me into the deep well where the churning machinery was working its depraved deeds. The hole collapsed over my disappearing form and all sounds ceased."

"Kyrano came out of the mine tunnels exultant with his success at **killing** his worse nightmare and competitor all the while saving the girl ( _by complete accident not his doing!_ ) and getting property of the mine as only living sibling of the dead owner. He took his baby niece from the worker, another cousin, and calmly, far too calmly and happily, walked to his car to drive to the grand-parents to tell them about the ' **horrendous accident** ' in the mine."

"Except it didn't end up like he planned. The accountant had escaped the office and uploaded to the police servers copies of the financial frauds committed by Kyrano and several cronies. But worse, he told the authorities over vidphone about the remote backup servers that received in REAL-TIME the data from every piece of heavy machinery on the compound so that the investigators could have an answer in case of accidents. Those backup files showed a clear case of **fratricidal murder** in progress coupled with **kidnapping** of the baby girl and defrauding her lawful inheritance. Arrest warrants were rapidly sworn out and police went looking for their suspects."

"Upon hearing this from another well paid spy inside the police department, Kyrano packed Onaha and Tanusha in his small private Cessna plane and left the village _almost destitute_ as all their money and assets would be frozen within the day as wanted suspects in capital crimes. At that moment, Kyrano **made a deal with the devil** ; he called Jeff Tracy and negotiated positions in his service for himself and Onaha until he could recover the mine, companies and estate from the police."

"Jeff wanted household help to _unburden_ Lucille but also mostly wanted that help _beholden only to himself_ , his ideology and secret plans of dominance and lordship. So, Jeff called the Thailand minister of police and bribed him to keep all the Bellegant / Iruthras properties **in escrow** until Tanusha was old enough to claim them as was her lawful right. That done, he financed the minister's electoral campaign to become Prime Minister on the next cycle so he could then have access to the ' _public curator_ ' in charge of maintaining the Bellegant holdings. His basic plan was to petition for mining rights for the rubies and a court mandate to ' **protect** ' the lands, homes and businesses until the baby girl was old enough to come in person. With many large bribes and Jeff's personal public support on TV, the man bought enough political clout in Thailand's ruling class to essentially, very silently, shove the remaining Bellegant and Iruthras relatives off the country's socioeconomic map."

Trangh glared malevolently at his two siblings, his contempt palpable even from where they knelt in submission to the authority of the combined clans. "When I managed to crawl my way out of the mine tunnels from where I had lain in a coma for almost nine days, our families were already defunct and hiding from assassins paid by **Tracy money** that came from **illegally recovered rubies** found in the wreckage of the ore processing hangar which had been separated from the offices by a few hundred yards. In an act of depravity rarely seen, Jeff had used MY own successful venture to pay for MY destruction and the enslavement of my daughter whom he never saw as anything but _breeding stock to stud his sons with_."

"I had a long convalescence, and longer period of grief for Rikuta, before I was functional again. Without immediate family, no money or political contacts yet highly intelligent, ambitious and well connected, I put myself to rebuilding my life before I was even out of the hospital bed. Upon finding the last proofs of my brother's treason and kidnapping of my still living girl, I gave in to **DARKNESS** the same way that Kyrano had but with the same differences in capacity, performance and success as always. The war had begun, and the final goal was the soul of my daughter Tanusha as well as justice and punishment against the traitors who visited devastation upon both our houses."

 **{ TB } - {** **Justice and Bloodletting** **} - { TB }**

 _(Two Steps From Hell – Never Back Down)_

 **Cargo bay; 23:17pm**

Tanusha stepped forward, the expression of unbridled scorn on her face spelling out for the two felonious parents that they would receive no mercy from her this night.

"Blind imbeciles, both of you!" the teenaged girl spat out in contempt. "I have known about my parentage for over seven years already! Jeff Tracy had the medical reports in his office, close at hand in case he needed to set Kyrano back in his ' **proper place as a servant** ' whenever he disagreed with something _utterly stupid_ Tracy was doing." - **Snort!** \- "The old fool was never as intelligent or capable as he thought he was. In that sense, him and you were a _well matched pair_ indeed, daddy dearest." she sneered at Kyrano's prostrate form.

"He kept those medical files in a drawer locked only by a regular physical key that was easy to open since he almost never locked it anyways. I accidentally found out about my illegal ' **adoption** ' one day by playing with Alan inside the villa's ventilation pipes in the area just above Jefferson's office. He was at the time berating you for your _uppity_ lack of submission to his plans. His **grossly overt threats** left nothing to the imagination therefore, even at the ages of 11 and 6, Alan and I understood everything quite clearly."

The angry young adult crossed her arms over her chest, the armored flight suit creaking as the straps and tools adjusted with her movements. "From then on, our spiritual uncle, Hiram Hackenbacker made every effort he could to discretely find and contact Trangh to re-establish our family as it should have been. It was my dear father who found and gave Hiram the last pieces of evidence that showed his wife had been killed off by Jeff's mafia contractors simply because the man wanted Hiram's attentions and efforts solely for his own projects. He allowed Fermat to live only as it created a weakness to exploit by threatening the boy's health and life whenever Hiram became too stubborn or tried to help the Tracy sons against their father."

Taking a full step forward, Kayo glared down at her prone parents, _estranged foreigners_ already in her mind since she found the truth of their multiple crimes. "My grand-parents and relatives, those who managed to escape being murdered by Jeff Tracy's mafia guns, had been working hard for years to reach me and save me from your grasp. When you opted to send me to a girls-only boarding secondary school at age 11, they were ready. They allowed you the illusion of thinking that I arrived at the chosen establishment and remained cloistered inside the walls for 10 months every years without fail. In truth, the agents placed inside the school's administration made certain my name was never registered in the student rolls and I surreptitiously disappeared down a service corridor and out the back of the compound."

"As you see, Father had ten years to prepare and he was, as usual, very apt in his planning. I was immediately taken from the school to the new Bellegant / Iruthras clanhold complex where I spent ten months of peace and solace, getting acquainted with my surviving estranged family. From then, every moment spent in your presence was torture and demeanment on myself, but I endured. I had five strong, kind and caring siblings that I wanted to help out of the sectarian hellhole they were marooned in, and nothing would stop me from helping them leave that place. The fact was also that the more time I spent with Alan, the more I liked him. He was very young and childish at first since he was only 5 years younger than me but he grew up and his maturity exponentialized before my eyes."

Trangh walked to the side of his daughter, laying a gentle hand on her armored shoulder, a smile of genuine pride and support on his features. Turning to his brother and sister-in-law, his lips turned downwards into a powerful scowl as he gazed with raw hatred at them. The barely restrained power inside his mind made his golden eyes luminous with malice at their continued lives. "You will understand, dear brother, that I have taken the time to actually homeschool Tanusha myself for the greater part of the last seven years. There were tutors for specific sciences, yes, but mostly it was all me and our parents. Father died at the guns of Tracy's mafia men while he was trying to save our mother-in-law, who died with him the same day. Amusingly enough, given time and grief, and finding solace in each other's presence, Mother and Father-in-law decided to marry and unite the clans at their level as well. Hence, as you see, the common seat they share. The throne was Tanusha's idea and the rubies my gift to embellish it."

Tin-Tin spoke up in cold, dismissive tones. "We wont bore you with the details of the last seven years of our lives and how we played you for fools all along, you and Tracy. You've not the mental capacities to understand any of it. Unless it was written as a child's picture book with carton pop-ups and even then, I wonder whether that would still be too much. We have better things to do than waste time figuring it out; it won't change the outcome. Not anymore."

The elderly Madam Bellegant spoke up from her throne, speaking with her estranged son for the first time in over 18 years. "You are a disgrace to our name. You have brought shame and humiliation to our doorstep repeatedly and never learned the basic values of grace and thankfulness despite our ceaseless efforts. My poor husband, our parents and combined ancestors weep in shame for the sheer depravity you have wrought upon our house and name. As the woman who birthed you, I cast you from my line; I disinherit you; I disown you and excommunicate you from the lineage of the ancestors. From this day onwards, you are lower than a foreigner! You are ' **untouchable** ' to us all!"

Trangh made a gesture and an armored, helmeted soldier came forward to clamp viciously a glowing device over the forehead of Kyrano who screamed in pain at the contact. After three full seconds, the soldier backed off and retreated into the crowd of milling people on the cargo deck. Kyrano Bellegant had been branded on his face with the glyph for ' **untouchable** ' before his entire family. Never again would he ever be seen as a living, respectable _human_ in this life; he was now less than cattle.

"Now, we will have Justice for our pains and the losses of life incurred from your criminal depravities against both bloodlines." Spoke gravely the patriarch of clan Iruthras. "We have debated at length what sentence to administer upon your sinful, worthless carcasses. Tanusha, however, came up with the perfect answer. You are parasites; small, menial and inept at anything but sucking the life and joy out of anything you touch. Just like mosquitoes. But, unlike mosquitoes, you are also lazy and mentally limited to the point you wouldn't be able to fly around seeking prey. No, you crawl around on your short stubby legs and cling to whichever hapless victim you happen upon, like heinous oversized ticks. Lazy, fat, useless things that actually culminate their uselessness and laziness by hitching a ride upon the backs of their victims as they suck the blood, life and happiness from them. You deserve to end like ticks when a camper finds one attached to himself or his hunting hound's fur. In **fire**."

Tanusha spoke, her anger coming out as frigid tones that chilled the souls of those who heard her. "I have waited seven long years for this. And finally, Justice cometh to the unworthy. Under the _Monk's Hood's_ hull lies the volcanic mountain that formed the Tahiti islands. It is smoldering contentedly as we speak, readying an eruption that will take thirty or forty years to build up. You will be forcibly removed from our lives and dropped into the incandescent caldera, in the lake of lava, just like ticks freshly plucked from the skin of a camper who discovered the disgusting things attached to him and dropped them into his campfire to make certain they do not reproduce or infest the forests anymore."

Kyrano and Onaha could only scream for pity as the massive ventral doors of the aerial ship unlocked and dropped out from under them, pivoting outwards along their huge hinges. Driven inexorably downwards by the heavy iron weights attached to them, the two felons quickly traversed the 2,000 feet of elevation between the ship and surface of the lava lake. They splashed into the molten rock hard enough that if they didn't die of a heart attack during the fall, the hard contact with the unyielding surface of the blazing liquefied rock would brake half the bones inside their bodies and instantly kill them. Either way, they never felt the inhuman temperatures melt the fat and skin off their bodies or cook their muscle mass in less than 60 seconds. No matter how cruel and monstrous the sentence was, it was mostly for show as the actual suffering lasted less than 10 seconds in all, most of it in the air.

The gigantic craft closed its belly and moved away on an ascending arc to reach the normal 25,000 feet cruising altitude that Trangh preferred to maintain. There was less traffic and much less chance of being seen, especially with the cloaking device installed by The Mechanic a few years back.

 **{ TB } - {** **Home safe at long last** **} - { TB }**

 _(Two Steps From Hell – Star Sky)_

 **Bridge; 23:38pm**

Trangh stepped onto the command deck of the ship, a small discrete smile on his features as he thought of the long but fatal ' **fall from grace** ' his brother had finally justly suffered. Looking around the room,he easily spotted the gray & black clad form of his daughter who was standing near a communications terminal with an open line off ship.

"I love you Alan, don't forget that. I'll see you at breakfast when you wake up. And don't worry about me traveling alone, either. Hiram's **Shadowcraft** class of combat ships are incredibly safe and well made. I'll be home back at ASET – Kansas with the sunrise."

As she closed her comm, the young woman blinked and smiled, turning towards her father's silent, ominous presence. For a medium sized male, he certainly filled an entire room with his presence without even trying. It was a neat little trick she had learned from him and put to good use with the Tracy's to impress upon them just who was in charge when she was among them. _Snort!_ The poor boys never had much of a chance with her. Except for Alan. The smarmy little brat had never been much impressed with her _aura of doom_ ; it certainly never stopped him from laughing at her or tickling her to tears if he felt like it. Why again did she love his stinking teenaged boy hide?

"Come dear heart; I will escort you to your ship so you can get en route back to your home. I despair that I will ever be so close to you again, but at least Alan is a proper son-in-law. He has lived through similar depravities and treasons as we did, therefore I trust he will not attempt them on others."

Kayo smirked a knowing smile, another trait she learned from her birth father. "You have no idea, father; he is already planning several strikes against those that would steal his company or break apart his family. There will be bloodshed in the streets by the end of the week if he hasn't already started."

Trangh could only smile in satisfaction at this. Maybe the 14 year old boy was in fact good enough for his princess after all or at least the potential for it was present. In any case. He was young enough and had collaborated with Trangh enough along the last four years to believe they would make a formidable team to defend their deserving family members. For the rest, time would tell.

 **{ TB } - { END** **} - { TB }**


End file.
